Grey Hearts
by AdmiralCats
Summary: After a horrific accident lands Pvt. Hudson in an ICU, Drake is led to believe the Weyland-Yutani botanist in charge of the facility had malicious intent. While the case remains ambiguous, Drake and a loner Engineer head to Washington, D.C., to see Hudson before the botanist can, and run into difficulties with androids along the way.
1. Chapter 1

I'm glad I didn't accidentally leave my journals behind when I went rummaging through my stuff before I hopped on a jet to the States. That would've been terrible, and made this plane trip even more boring than it already is.

While at the airport not that long ago, some woman commented on my journals. She didn't see what was inside, but she noted the fact that I was carrying them (I didn't bother putting them in my backpack because I knew I was going to want them for the flight). I tried to ignore her, but she asked me if I was a writer. I was honest; I said "no," and that they were for my personal thoughts and feelings.

I probably shouldn't have said that, because she started going on about how writing my thoughts is good for my mental health and that going back and reading previous entries can help you process your emotions and whatnot. I took a breath, and told her that I've been doing this for a few months and my mental health is still shitty.

Again, I shouldn't have said that.

Wow, this trip is off to a fucked-up start. There's this, and then there's the fact that Aran is trying to blow our budget by buying giant pretzels at food stands.

You can imagine that going through a terminal followed by an eight-foot-tall snow-white humanoid is a thrilling experience. Even with all of the documents Delhoun provided us, it wasn't able to shield us from confused looks by everyone at the Brisbane airport. My frustration only got worse with the knowledge that we'd be on the plane for almost twenty hours.

Now that we're taking off, I'll take the time to recount everything that's happened over the last two days. Good thing I bought five blank books.

* * *

After I got released from a three-week punishment for threatening to hit Bishop, my squad's android, I was returned to my unit with some added baggage, namely, a double dose of toxic fumes from a lab full of silver flowers. Because of these flowers, I've been really sick, and I haven't been able to do much in terms of what the Colonial Marines normally do. Doctor Delhoun tried keeping my mind occupied by having me work in his animal shelter for Annexers, which are these rat-like aliens that are far smarter than they look. I tried caring for the babies of a particularly aggressive Annexer named Dakota. That worked out OK. Then, I found out an Engineer, named Aran, bonded with Dakota fifteen years ago and was trying to get her back by sneaking around the facility. Apparently, he thought it was a genius idea to bring me along just because he saw me with the babies.

In the meantime, I was having a fight with Vasquez because I picked a bad time to ask about sex. Vasquez sorta thought that because I had a near-death experience, I'd want more change out of life. She's not wrong, but we both handled our emotions poorly that night. We made up. Eventually.

And then, because Aran dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night, none of the other Marines knew where I was in the morning, so they were all sent to look for me. Poor Hudson walked into a building where a botanist called Doctor Hornby is working with those stupid flowers. He breathed in the toxin, and he's now in a life support unit over in Washington, D.C. Aran and I are going to see him, as well as spy on Hornby a little.

The other Marines were devastated to learn that Hudson had been sent overseas. Apone, especially, was pissed.

"Drake, if you didn't run off, we wouldn't have this issue," he said, pointing at me as we stood in the hallway outside the mess area of the base.

I hate the feeling of being singled out. Almost instantly, my heart fell in my stomach and sat there, floating like a dead animal you find in the pool when you take the cover off in spring. I knew better than to argue with Apone, but I still wanted to defend myself. "We wouldn't have this issue if Doctor Hornby had put signs on that building."

No one said anything, but Vasquez gave me a sharp elbow to my left side.

"Can't do anything about that, now," Hicks sighed, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. "Hopefully, we'll get word on Hudson, soon."

"I hope so, too, but I'm gonna have to think before I decided to give Drake a medal," Apone replied. He glanced over his shoulder at Hicks, clearly respecting him, but then glared at me. "You seem to be dragging a lot of shit around. Ever since that mission to LV-400, you've been moody, sad, irritable. This is not a psychiatric ward, Private, this is the Colonial Marine Corps! Either you drop whatever load of shit you're carrying, or you quit. I didn't let you and Vasquez into my unit so you could be babied and feel superior to everyone else just because you've been through a hellhole." Apone approached me, and I could see his frustration with me on the surface of his eyes. "Maybe it was a mistake to have you under Delhoun's protection. He's been trying to fatten you up and gave you the best excuse there is to sit around and do nothing. When you finally pass that flower shit, Drake, you're not getting anymore special treatment. Everyone around you has been busting their ass while you lay on it and play with rodent babies all day. That is not why you're here. You're here because Goddamn Weyland-Yutani thought kids like you deserve a second chance. Don't you fucking think about wasting that second chance, Drake, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

"Good. Now, get your ass in that mess hall before I kick it there."

A mix of emotions had sapped my appetite. I followed everyone into the mess hall, where Bishop was setting out plates of powdered eggs, milk, and sausage. My thoughts were all over the place, especially when we all realized that it was very quiet without Hudson. Shame made my insides feel heavy, and I found I was taking too many steps back in my progress of not blaming myself for everything. In fact, it got worse.

Vasquez touched my knee under the table, and looked at me from the corner of her eye. I didn't feel much better. I honestly wanted to sink into the floor and hide.

After breakfast was light physical training. I really wanted to push myself, even though I had four more days until I was supposed to see results from Doctor Hornby's injection. Instead of pushing myself and being victorious, I pushed myself and threw up in a tire lying on the ground. I cursed myself, and I could almost feel my self-esteem dropping through the bottom of my heart.

Shortly before lunch, I went into the base's gym, still wanting to push myself. I was alone, so no one could see me spontaneously break down when I failed. I stood in front of a punching bag, pretending everything I hated about myself was written all over it. As I socked the bag, I didn't notice Vasquez walking into the gym, dropping a bag of spare clothing on a bench. She watched me for a few seconds before approaching me, not even bothering to greet me. "I hope you're not mad at Apone for what he said."

I gave the bag one more punch before turning to face Vasquez. "I'm not mad at Apone. I'm mad at me. He's absolutely right; I was given a second chance, and I'm fucking it up."

"I don't think you're fucking it up, Drake."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"No, I'm really not. You've made good use of your second chance." Vasquez folded her arms over her chest. "So you've had a few bad experiences. That's life."

I nodded. "I just wish I wasn't . . . you know-"

"Made to look like it's your fault?"

"Exactly." I weakly smiled. "You read my mind."

"No. I've just been around you for so long that I have a good idea of what you're thinking about." Vasquez looked over her shoulder before grabbing my hand to squeeze it hard. My smile became more genuine as I squeezed her hand as well, and then she took my chin in her other hand, shaking my head. "You're really stupid when it comes to your emotions," she said. "I don't think you can deny that."

I felt an urge tugging in my gut, a desire to share a tender moment. Needless to say, as I was about to brush the back of my hand against Vasquez's soft cheek, the door to the gym opened, rendering any and all affection between us at that time impossible. We both looked to see a shirtless Spunkmeyer walking in, and Vasquez abruptly slapped me, making it look like we were just fooling around like comrades instead of lovers.

* * *

Over the course of that day, I continued to feel like Apone was antagonizing me, and I continued to feel like I deserved it. Normal people would say I shouldn't feel like I deserved it, because in life, shit happened, and I just had the worst luck ever. I honestly felt like every glance I was given created a bruise on my heart, but I didn't want anyone to see that. I wanted to prove I could function, prove I was tougher than anyone in the room.

Right before evening chow, though, Doctor Delhoun entered the base, looking concerned. I could hear him talking to Apone, who tried to tell him off in a rather colorful fashion. That was the day I found out Delhoun's pottymouth goes beyond f-bombs, though I'm pretty sure there were some words in there that would only be understood by his fellow Canadians. It became silent when Hudson's name was brought up, and then Apone gave Delhoun the OK to see me.

Entering the hallway, Delhoun smiled when he saw me. "Drake."

"What?" I replied.

"Come with me, please. I need to speak to you in private."

"Why?"

"It's about Hudson."

Sighing, I followed Delhoun outside, where we climbed into his modified Jeep. He didn't start it; instead, he closed the doors, turned on the air conditioner, and faced me. "Three hours ago, Doctor Hornby disappeared. I haven't been able to get in contact with him. His facility is devoid of people, and he's left no notes as to where he is. My biggest fear is that he's gone to Washington to study Hudson."

I thought for a moment. I knew I had the impression I was being studied when I was poisoned, and I didn't want Hudson going through the same thing. "What're we gonna do about it?"

"That's the hard part. I know Hornby. He was devastated when he learned Weyland-Yutani will cut his budget if he doesn't produce substantial research. He could see Hudson as an opportunity to study the silver flower's effects without much interference, and if he's not thinking straight, things could go awry." Delhoun glanced out the window, then back at me. "I want you and Aran to go to D.C."

"Why me? And why Aran?"

"Well, you can't exactly do anything with the Marines, now, can you?"

I gave another sigh. "That's the issue; this morning . . . Apone . . . basically accused you of making me soft and that I've been lazy and that I'm . . . I'm wasting my second chance."

"I can see why he thinks I'm making you soft, but, then again, he wasn't with us on the orbital hospital. You definitely deserve some credit for getting that Seegson employee who broke in."

I shrugged. "I don't feel it."

Delhoun raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're blaming yourself again."

"Sorry. I am. I wish I didn't, but I am. I've been feeling horrible all day." I struggled to keep my voice under control.

"Take this trip, then."

"Why?"

"Number one, it'll give you a chance to collect your thoughts and analyze yourself in an environment where you're a little freer. Second, you'll probably get a chance to talk to Hudson. You've worked with him for some time. Surely, in a setting where he's feeling a little groggy and less . . . impulsive, shall I say, he'll manage to have a heart-to-heart conversation with you."

"So, all that matters is what he thinks? Whether or not he thinks I saved his life or not?"

"Maybe. He's not going to remember much. Just be honest with him about what happened."

"And . . . why do you want Aran tagging along?"

"He's in the same boat as you, mentally. Dakota has shown signs of improvement since alerting you to Hudson's unfortunate accident, but she's still not ready to get along with anyone, including Aran. He's been feeling down, lately, because of that, and I think you two can help each other."

I shook my head, not making eye contact with Delhoun. "I still don't know what it is about me that made him think I'd be a good choice to accompany him to help Dakota."

"I don't think you understand just how lonely Aran is. Imagine if you were isolated from humanity for years on end, just wandering the known universe and wishing you had someone with you, sharing your experience. The Engineers are mysterious for sure, but they're not that dissimilar from us. Aran is lacking many components in his life that create a massive risk of depression, and since you two have already formed a connection, I think you should continue to build on that connection. Give him the friendship he needs."

"Oh, alright. I'll take him along." I looked at Delhoun. "Did you get permission from Apone to just take me away?"

"I already talked to him about it. Pack enough for a week. I'll take you and Aran to the airport."

* * *

After packing a duffel bag and a backpack full of clothes and hygiene products, as well as my journals, I decided to say good-bye to Vasquez. I was lucky to find her alone near her bedroom, because there was a lot I wanted to say.

She didn't seem too happy about the fact that I was going away again. In fact, I think she was afraid I was going to have another near-death experience. It was difficult for her to cover that up, and her tough exterior began to crack.

For the first time in a long time, she told me she loved me. We gave each other a tight hug, and then she called me a moron, and I smirked.

"I'll be back, OK?" I said.

"You better," Vasquez replied. "I don't want to wake up one day and here you're lying in a hospital next to Hudson."

"I promise, you won't hear that." Now, that's a promise I shouldn't be making, because God only knows what's going to happen on this trip. Then again, I cared about Vasquez. We tease each other, we call each other names, but we care about each other. We've been with each other for a long time, and we would do anything for each other. I decided to solidify that by holding onto her tighter. I should've done a better job with how my face looked, because something was probably better than no expression at all.

"You're a magnificent animal, Drake. Big, dumb, yet . . ." Vasquez jabbed my chest, "you have a heart."

"Lemme tell you a secret: I hate my heart," I whispered.

"Don't. You kinda need it to live."

Now I had the chance to run my finger against her cheek. She then ran hers along my jawline, then grabbed my face to kiss me. She then pushed my head away, taking a breath. I adjusted the strap on my duffel bag, unable to find something more to say. I knew I was going to think of everything I wanted to say when I was away from her, and that was my heart started to hurt just now.

* * *

I stopped writing for a few hours because Aran was bored and a little restless. He actually managed to sleep a little, but he woke up with a start, and told me that he was having nightmares about this one time he was hitchhiking on a garbage dumper ship. The crew was rather small, and very quiet. Aran could remember walking in the corridors where no one had walked in probably years. He remembered how lonely it was, and his nightmares only enhanced that.

He didn't go into detail, but I put away my journal and talked to him. I don't know how he's going to last twenty hours on the plane without going insane. I mean, he's done things like this before, where he's on a transport for hours, maybe even days or weeks on end, and I can imagine he just didn't want to go through that again.

"Hey, you have someone suffering with you," I said.

He didn't write out a reply, but he did offer me a bag of chocolate-covered peanuts. I thought I didn't have an appetite until my stomach voiced its opinion, so I took the bag, pouring some of its contents in my mouth.

There was a point where Aran glanced over my shoulder at my journal, but he changed his mind a second later. In all honesty, that said a lot about him. Knowing when to back off is important in any kind of friendship, and he proved he was aware of that, which was something I was grateful for.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Drake is back after a not-so-long wait. I don't know what to say; when I have an idea, I write it. When I'm motivated, I write.  
_

 _Already, we're introduced to conflict between Apone and Drake, but it can also be seen as a catalyst for Drake's emotional progress. No one wants to be singled out for their faults, especially by their boss. Drake's got a number of options: take the heat and learn from it, or feel bad about it. It's natural for people to feel bad after such a confrontation, but it's not the most healthy.  
_

 _One can tell you live the geek life when you remember a character as minor as Spunkmeyer. Poor guy almost walked in on Drake sharing a moment with Vasquez. Happy reading - Cat_


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up and realized I had been lying against Aran's shoulder for the last several hours. He didn't necessarily mind, but it told me I could not wait to sleep in a bed. Sitting up, I stretched a little before grunting, "Are we there yet?"

Aran shook his head.

"Are we close?"

He shrugged.

"Are you going to be useless this entire trip?"

He smirked at me, but shook his head.

"Right, then," I sighed. "I'm going back to sleep." I hadn't been laying there for two minutes when Aran tapped my shoulder, and I gave him a dirty look. "Did I, or did I not, just tell you I was going back to sleep?"

He nodded, but offered me yet another bag of chocolate-covered peanuts.

"Please understand that if you waste all our money on snacks, I promise to kill you. By the way, no, I don't want anymore. We're probably going to be eating out the whole time, and I like my waistline the way it is."

Aran left me alone for another hour or so, but when that hour was up, he went back to trying to convince me to eat something. By now, I figured he was well aware of my issues and was trying to help me, so I couldn't get too mad at him.

Needless to say, I didn't get that much sleep, but I did manage to doze off the last two hours of the flight. However, when we landed in D.C., it was four o'clock in the morning, and the jet lag kicked in almost immediately. Aran and I stepped off the plane with our luggage and I got the feeling we were both struggling to comprehend what time it was. The airport was surprisingly busy, and people were pushing past us. Yes, people were actually pushing Aran, as if he was only six feet tall instead of eight feet tall. He didn't seem to notice, though.

I collapsed on a bench, and rubbed my face. "Dear God, what just happened?" I groaned.

Aran sat next to me, sighing.

We stayed there for quite awhile. I felt like someone was whacking a mallet against my head, and kept telling myself that we had to get up and get a taxi to go to the hotel. "I'm getting up now," I said, even though I was going to sit there for another five minutes. "Now." Again, I didn't. "Alright, now I am." I forced myself up, grabbing the handle of my luggage. At least Aran followed my example.

As we stepped outside the airport, we were greeted by the skyline of Washington, D.C. I frankly didn't have the energy to raise my arm and hail a taxi, so we headed in the direction of the subway. We started heading down the stairs, and in all my tiredness, I dropped my duffel bag, and it went rolling down the steps.

I wasn't in the mood to be mad, so I said to Aran, "Can you get that?"

The big fool actually jogged down to grab the bag. He was clearly exhausted as well, but he cared more about my fatigue than his own. He even tried to tried to use the machines to get our Metro cards, which, as you'd may expect, didn't go over well.

Poor Aran wasn't sure what button did what or that the money has to be flat when you stick it in the slot. Eventually, I had to shove him aside to get the cards the right way. When the machine spat out the cards, I handed one to him. "Don't lose it," I said. "You lose it, and I'll make you cry. Got it?"

Aran nodded, but he seemed more upset over the fact that he couldn't work the machine.

* * *

Once we were on the train to Crystal City, I wanted to fall asleep again, but I had to pay attention to where we were going. Considering Aran was beginning to fall asleep, too, I couldn't afford to rely on him to let me know if we were approaching our destination.

The movement of the train was making me more drowsy. My head felt heavy, and I involuntarily rested it on Aran's arm. I was almost immediately whisked into a dream, and saw a hunched man walking in front of me down a busy street. Abruptly, the man stopped and became violently ill. His vomit was white, and I realized he wasn't a man, but an android. He continued to throw up until he was just spitting, and then stood up, resuming his hunched walk.

I was awakened by Aran shaking me. He helped me stand, and walked me off the train at the platform claiming we arrived at Crystal City. We went through a large underground mall before coming up to the lobby of the hotel, a Marriott that's been around for quite some time. I think I had just enough energy to confirm our registration. At least the ladies at the desk were kind enough to tell us to get some rest.

Our room keys in hand, we made a seemingly long trudge to the elevator, and, again, the movement made me want to drop off right then and there. I leaned against Aran, but opened my eyes just a little when the elevator finally stopped at our floor.

Aran was sweet enough to grab all the luggage and awkwardly hold it while trying to figure out how to work the key. It's basically a card that you stick in the lock, and the poor guy was so tired that it took him awhile to figure out which end went in the slot. I think he swore in his language a couple times.

Eventually, we were in the room, and the most I did was kick off my boots before collapsing on one of the beds, out cold before my head hit the pillow.

* * *

I was a little confused when I awoke to find I was still in my clothes, but I also didn't know what day it was or the time. I glanced at a clock, which read "9:25 AM," and everything came back. The long flight, the excruciating walk and train ride, and simply flopping on the bed.

Slowly sitting up, I rubbed my face, finding I needed to shave. I looked over at the second bed, seeing Aran conked out as well. A wave of guilt crashed over me as I remembered how grumpy I was last night, and how all he was doing was helping me. Best thing to do was leave him alone and let him sleep.

I got out of bed, and took my duffel bag from the floor, dropping it on the bed to rummage around for my toiletries. Once I found my razor and shaving cream, I headed right into the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as I could. I figured I may as well shower while I was at it, because I haven't bathed in well over twenty-four hours. At base, we have rules for how long we can shower and how high the temperature and pressure can be. Not here. I cranked up the pressure to wake myself up and cranked up the temperature because I'm tired of cold showers.

There's a feeling that comes with taking a shower when you're exhausted; you feel human again. I was awake again, and I found Delhoun was right about feeling freer. I took my sweet time in that shower, not giving a rat's ass.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist and standing in front of the sink. Lathering shaving cream on my face, I took my time with that as well, running the razor cleanly over my skin, making sure I didn't miss a single spot. I noticed a bottle of aftershave near the faucet, and I couldn't remember the last time I ever used aftershave. Prying off the cap, I took a sniff, then poured some of the liquid in my hand to rub on my face. There was a really sexy scent to it, and I wondered if Vasquez would like it.

Dammit, I shouldn't have thought of that. Now . . . I missed her. A lot.

I continued rubbing the aftershave on my face, my thoughts changing drastically. I went from having fun to being homesick and miserable. _Come on. This is only for a week. You'll see her again soon._ With the towel still wrapped around my waist, I left the bathroom, finding Aran sitting up in bed with the TV on. He was clearly more interested in the remote than whatever was on the TV screen while I opened my duffel bag to grab some clean clothes. I went back into the bathroom to put my clothes on, relieved to be wearing something fresh and dry, then headed back outside.

Aran glanced over at me. I noticed he was being very gentle with the remote, yet managed to take the batteries out. Sighing, I said, "Are you stupid?"

He shook his head, then put the batteries back in, pressed the cover on, and gave me a childish smile.

"Yeah, you're stupid. Give it." I held my hand out, and he reluctantly handed over the remote. Laying back on my bed, I pressed the "mute" button, and looked at Aran. "Listen, we're not here to play games and fuck around. We're here because Delhoun thinks Hornby is going to get his hands on Hudson. Somehow, we're qualified to stop that from happening."

Aran handed me a notebook, which read, " _Actually, Delhoun wants us to have fun out there. He said it'll be a good way to help you feel better. You need to relax and become more aware of your thoughts and practice controlling your emotions."_

I rolled my eyes. "When did he become a psychologist?"

Aran shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. The main focus of this . . mission, if you even want to call it that, is to find where Hudson is and make sure Hornby isn't planning on doing anything with him." I adjusted the pillows so I could lean back. "I didn't go to spy school. This is complete bullshit."

Aran watched me while I got comfortable and flipped through the channels on the television. He wrote in his notebook, and handed it to me. " _Are you OK? You seem like something's bothering you."_

I glared at him. "Did we just meet or something? No, I'm not OK. I just . . . I'm frustrated. I'm homesick. I have no idea what timezone we're in."

" _It sounds like you're anxious because you're in a new place._ "

I took a breath. "Are you going to keep pointing out the obvious?"

" _If it annoys you, then yes. I didn't drag you up here so you could continue to . . . what's it you humans say? . . . Oh, yeah, continue to bitch and moan."_

"You think I bitch and moan, huh?" I folded my arms over my chest. "I gotta put up with you, too. Which is it, Aran? Are you going to help me, or are you going to be like everyone else and continue to just tell me everything that's wrong with me? I know what's wrong. The fact that I _exist_ is wrong enough. Why don't you just open then window and chuck me outside? We're right above the road. I'll get hit by a truck or something and then no one has to deal with my bullshit ever again."

I know I didn't mean that, but Aran didn't know. He looked at me, concern filling his eyes, and wrote, " _Please, don't talk like that, Drake."_

Staring at the pleading sentence, I rubbed my face, smelling the aftershave. Again, I thought of Vasquez, of how I promised to come back. "I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I'm very sorry." I tossed the notebook in Aran's direction. "I don't know how many more times I gotta get pushed down before I get up and stay up, especially since I'm the one beating myself down."

Aran reached over to pat my shoulder, then wrote, " _Do you want to have breakfast? Maybe you'll think more clearly after you've eaten."_

"I'm not hungry."

Aran wasn't buying that. He got out of bed, and went to the door, gesturing for me to follow him.

"Oh, no, buddy, you're gonna have to do better than that if you want me to leave this bed."

Note to self: don't say that to someone who's taller than you and probably outweighs you by a hundred pounds. Aran flung me over his shoulder, carrying me out of the hotel room all the way to the elevator.

I'm not going to forget the looks some of the people in the hallway were giving us.

* * *

Now that I was more awake, I could actually see how nice the hotel lobby was, but I couldn't get past the fact that there were so many people and I was accompanied by a giant. I tried to pretend that I was alone, but it didn't help that Aran walked so close and kept poking me every time he saw something interesting.

Aran has this childlike wonder for everything made by humans. He found an old globe on a desk that was decoration, and I debated with myself whether or not I should stop him from touching it. I figured he wasn't hurting anyone, so I let him go. A minute later, he was playing with an old decorative telephone. Frankly, most people I know have no idea how to work a phone with a circular dial, but Aran seemed to be a pro at it, even though the thing was clearly too small for him. I mean, he basically put every human alive to shame by just knowing that this thing is a phone.

He knew it wasn't functioning, but that didn't stop him from being amazed by it. Eventually, he put the phone down, and looked at me, taking out his notebook. " _I've seen this in some of your really old movies. I wish I could've seen what Earth looked like back then for myself. Now, all I've got are photographs."_

I sighed, jealous of Aran's simplicity. "I wish I knew what to say, but, I don't."

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and I was sure all the restaurants wouldn't be serving breakfast anymore. The mall was underneath the hotel and several other hotels and apartment buildings, and below the mall was the Metro. I glanced around, seeing people of all walks of life. Privately, I was glad that I was out of uniform, because I didn't need to have any attention drawn towards me.

OK, that was already impossible with the Engineer following me around, but, still.

We found a small café that was still open. Their breakfast rush had ended fifteen minutes ago, but they were more than happy to serve us, especially when I showed them my military I.D. As we sat, I glanced over my shoulder, seeing a familiar figure talking to another man. I hissed at Aran. "That's Doctor Hornby."

Aran looked up, tilting his head to see what I was looking at.

"Don't stare too long," I whispered. "He might see us."

Lucky for us, Hornby didn't even look in our general direction. We couldn't hear his conversation, and I felt a chill go down my spine as I contemplated what that conversation was.

* * *

I know I accused Aran of trying to waste our budget on pretzels, but I think five dollars is too much for a bran muffin. A _bran muffin_ , of all things. I generally don't eat things as bland as bran muffins, because it reminds me way too much of the rations, but the documents I was given about getting the silver flower toxin out of my system stated foods rich in fiber absorb the liquid and prevent it from irritating the lining in my digestive tract, and a lot of other biological nonsense I don't care to remember because I'm tired of hearing it.

By the time we finished breakfast, Hornby had disappeared, and we didn't see what direction he took off in. I mean, Aran would've seen if he wasn't so busy trying to figure out the difference between a donut and a bagel by staring at them.

"Alright," I said after paying for the food, "let's go find Hudson."

But, Aran wanted to explore. I can't exactly blame him, but I wanted to get to Hudson before Hornby does. However, I ended up going with Aran's plan to wander around aimlessly when I realized that there are many hospitals in D.C. and we have no idea which one Hudson was sent to.

We headed pretty deep into the mall, to the places where people only go when they really need it, like a chiropractor, for instance. I personally wanted to stop in, but it was probably expensive and I just didn't feel I had the time. Eventually, we found ourselves much further underground at the Metro platform. There were mainly tourists at this hour, and, luckily, none of them wanted to bother me.

Given that we were underground most of the morning, we didn't know what the weather was like, and I could only hope it was decent. I used my card to pay for a ride near the old Pentagon, figuring there had to be a military hospital nearby.

As we sat down and the train started moving, someone start coughing, and I turned to see an android spitting white flecks into a napkin. I frowned as I started thinking about the dream I had last night, but I dismissed it as a coincidence.

The android remained silent after that, but he glanced in our direction, and started coughing again. I sighed before saying, "Are you OK?"

He nodded before spitting in the napkin again. I took note of the fact that he looked nothing like Bishop, so he was either a model that came before, or he was some kind of prototype. He glanced at his hand, making sure there wasn't any fluid on it, before holding it out to me. "They call me Mathias." There was definitely something wrong with his voice. If he was a prototype, he was a poor one at that. "You're a Marine, aren't you?"

"How can you tell?"

"Your I.D. is in one of your pockets. Mark Drake, is it?"

I nodded.

The train stopped, and Mathias prepared to get off. He didn't say another word to us, and just kept coughing as he stepped onto the platform. I glanced at Aran, whose look of wonder had been replaced by total fear.


	3. Chapter 3

I doubted we would see Mathias again. Privately, I hoped he'd get fixed or something. Even though androids don't feel pain . . . actually, maybe they do, and I just don't know. Anyway, I just didn't think we were going to run into him again.

The weather was bright and sunny as we emerged from the Metro station, but it didn't do much to improve my mood. My mind kept wandering back to last night and earlier this morning, especially to when I told Aran to throw me out the window so I could get hit by a vehicle. I honestly didn't mean that at all, but I knew that wasn't exactly something I should've said because not everyone can see that I don't mean what I say sometimes. I also had a feeling that saying that meant I was doing a horrible job at pressing myself forward; I felt like I was pressing myself backward.

I knew this was all about how I reacted to a situation. This had nothing to do with what Apone said to me or Aran accusing me of being bitchy. They were just pointing out what was wrong with me, and I was doing nothing to change that.

Thinking about that created an ache in my heart-the bruises I mentioned were still there, and taking their sweet time in healing. The funny part was that this was all tracing back to the fact that I still feel guilty about my past. Every incident with me had a link to my past. It was like a bacteria that infected everything in sight, but only I had the medicine to treat it, and I didn't know how to use it.

As we stood at a crosswalk, Aran gently touched my shoulder, giving me a concerned look. I had a feeling he wanted to tell me I appeared lost, and I gave him a reassuring pat on his wrist. "I'm OK," I said. "Just thinking." I gave him a weak smile, and somehow I knew he could see right through it.

I became too lost in my head to focus on what we were doing. We walked by two hospitals, and we didn't even bother going in to ask if Hudson was there. By the time I realized that, it was a little past noon, and everything from the jet lag to my guilt was about to crash down on my head like a piano in those old cartoons. I collapsed on a bench, covering my face. "I'm so sorry, Aran."

Aran sat next to me, looking more concerned than before.

"We walked by two hospitals, didn't we?"

He nodded.

I gave a groan of disappointment. "What am I doing to myself?"

Aran took out his handy notebook. " _You look like you're thinking a little too much._ "

"Again with pointing out the obvious!"

" _Well, you asked what you were doing to yourself, and I gave you an answer._ "

"I know." I took a breath and sighed. "I'm . . . I'm sorry about this morning."

" _About how you wanted me to throw you out the window?_ "

"Yes. I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that."

" _I know you didn't mean it, but it's still something you shouldn't have said because it carries weight. It was a cry for help, but you wouldn't have gotten the help you're looking for. You're trying to improve yourself so you can continue with the Marines without issue, not get discharged and placed in psychiatric care_."

"Got that right."

" _I won't say anything to anyone. I promise_."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." I gave another sigh. "Maybe I don't give Delhoun enough credit."

" _I don't think you do, either. He does care about you, and he wishes he went about the Annexer care facility job better_."

"I'm talking about the fact that he sent you along with me. He told me that it's because we've gone through similar shit and can help each other somehow. I think . . . he knows that I'm mentally self-destructive, and that I need someone to be with me and just . . . keep me from getting too lonely or . . . hurting myself." I looked at Aran. "Whatever the case, things would've been a lot different if I'd been sent here alone. I don't know what I'd be doing."

" _Probably wandering around the airport in a hopeless daze._ "

I couldn't help but feel he was right.

* * *

That whole first day was spent getting acquainted with the area, but I also felt like we needed to hurry and find Hudson because we had spotted Hornby earlier.

It wasn't until five that evening that we actually stopped moving. Having skipped lunch, we were both starving and settled on the first restaurant we saw, which was a really small, dimly lit place on the corner of the same block the hotel was on. Of course, it was the rush hour, so it took forever for us to get our food, and even our drinks took too long.

"Fuck it. I don't care what any doctor says. I want alcohol," I declared.

Aran didn't offer any protest. He simply shrugged, his eyes gradually shifting back down to the menu.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a few faces that were vaguely familiar, and when I turned to get a better look, I recognized them from the formal dinner in Australia last week. My guts were twisting when I saw Private McKay, whom Vasquez spent some time with when we were fighting. I know now that she didn't like him, but a haunting feeling of uncertainty had wrapped itself around my heart the way a boa wraps around a rat.

I tried to keep from saying "Oh, shit," out loud when McKay glanced in my direction. He gave a warm smile, and held out his hand. "Hey, Drake. Weird seeing you here. Your unit get transferred, too?"

"Um . . . yes. Yes, they did." I took his hand, discomfort building in the hollowness of my stomach.

"Nice. It'll be nice to see all of you again. Vasquez and Hudson, especially. They were fun."

His smile and friendliness just irritated me for some reason.

"Speaking of Vasquez, is she free at the moment?"

"No."

"OK. Can you pass her a message saying I'd like to see her?"

"No."

"How come?"  
I stood up abruptly, knocking over my chair and grabbing McKay's collar. Anger was fiercely boiling in my gut, threatening to overtake my heart in the process. "Because she's not interested in you," I hissed. "She was never interested in you." I shook him, blood pounding in my ears. "You leave her alone, and how about you leave me alone, too!"

"What the hell's gotten into you?!" McKay shoved me off, and prepared to sock me in the jaw. Right before that, though, his fist made contact with the heavy armor of my Engineer companion. McKay yelped in pain when he realized he didn't punch a human jaw, and his face went pale as he realized what was standing in front of him wasn't human.

Aran looked down at him, arms folded over his chest. He could easily throw McKay across the room, but I think we'd rather not pay for the damage that would cost. Instead, Aran lifted McKay up effortlessly.

"What the fuck is that thing?" one of the other members of McKay's squad whispered.

"Aran, you can put him down, now," I said, "I think he got the message."

Grunting, Aran gently set McKay down, and a smile of satisfaction came over my face as I watched McKay and his squad leave the area.

As we sat back down, I looked at Aran, still grinning. "That, my friend, was priceless."

Aran gave me a shy smile, like he was proud of himself but also afraid he'd been too rough with McKay.

We didn't see that crew again for the rest of the night, and while I was nervous that they were going to tell their commanding officer what happened, I was definitely glad I told off McKay. I probably should talk to Vasquez about this, though, because this little spat may've just blown our cover.

I loosened my belt after dinner, leaning back in the chair and resting my hand on my stomach. Aran glanced at me, then pulled out his notebook, writing, " _I take it you're not going to order dessert?"_

"No. You can if you want to." I wasn't all that surprised Aran was going for dessert. Whether or not you think portions are too big are irrelevant to someone of Aran's size. He's probably gotta eat more than two thousand calories to keep going on a daily basis. I was actually content for the first time in what felt like weeks.

It was while I was sitting and digesting that I started to think we should've checked at least one hospital for Hudson that day. Every second we wasted was more seconds bought for Hornby-that is, if he's here to study Hudson. That whole idea disturbed me. Hudson was completely unaware of this. He was probably in a deep sleep, having dreams and nightmares of varying sorts.

I've never heard of someone being traumatized by the images their brain paints when they're asleep. There are times when I shudder if I even think about when I was out because of the silver flowers. So many scenes passed by. Incomprehensible, yet could fill a book. I had nightmares about my past, about losing people I cared about . . .

Strangely, I can remember a fleeting dream where I felt like I was going to fly out of a building that was threatening to collapse. Holes had been blown into the wall. Things not bolted down were flying out, and I distinctly remember a lamp bashing into Hicks as he screamed orders at us. I was lying on my belly, half outside one of the gaping holes, holding Hudson's hand, trying to keep him from falling. Below us, the unnamed city was fine, but everything had stopped when this building decided to call it quits. Then, my muscles abruptly relaxed, and I let go of Hudson. I watched, powerless, as he disappeared in a white cloud, screams echoing.

I felt like a brick with the word "guilt" written on it smashed against the top of my skull. Tears choked me, and I sat, up, resting my elbows on the table and rubbing my face. I really hoped no one saw I was about to cry.

Well, Aran saw, and that was OK. He leaned over to make eye contact with me, and gave me a concerned look. I allowed two tears to fall while he watched, and a sob escaped my throat. Without a second thought, Aran cancelled his dessert order, and after paying for both our dinners, he led me outside. I forced myself to hold in the sobs. Guilt and anger and confusion were all squeezing my heart and whacking my brain like little kids playing with hammers.

My boots left the ground as Aran lifted me up in a tight embrace. A primal desire for comfort had completely consumed me, and I sobbed hard. I felt pathetic, yet I knew I needed this; otherwise, it was going to fester and I was going to spew out that infection later on at someone who didn't deserve it. My face heated up, both with an increase in blood pressure and my tears, and I breathed, "This is all my fault. It's all my fault Hudson's sick. I saw it in a dream and I did nothing about it!"

Thinking back, that "I saw it in a dream" sounds really nonsensical, but I wasn't processing what I was saying very clearly, so I'll let it slide.

Aran patted my head, and was probably thinking that I shouldn't be blaming myself. He let me cry for as long as I needed to, and then slowly set me on the ground. He then used his thumb to wipe away the remaining tears, but he couldn't do anything about the redness or the shininess from the liquid in my eyes. There was a look of absolute sorrow on his face, and I could tell he was thinking a bit too hard as well.

When we returned to our hotel room, I explained what happened to Aran. He simply nodded as I talked, not breaking eye contact with me to write in his notebook. I can't seem to describe how I felt a thousand times better after talking to Aran about my sudden breakdown and my nightmares and how I felt responsible for Hudson's illness.

Aran did eventually reply, and basically stated (as I thought), that I can't blame myself and that I'm on the verge of destroying myself. I'm not improving myself by heaping on guilt when my brain can't hold anymore. I need to confront what's making me feel this way.

I can't confront my past, though. I can't go back and get my prison sentence revoked. I sacrificed too much. I failed to redeem myself.

But I can talk to Hudson. I can talk to Delhoun. I can talk to Apone. I can convince them of my strengths, that I'm not a failure, that I didn't mean them any harm.

I can't keep trying to run. I can't keep trying to hide. I can't keep letting it sit inside my heart. I have to do something. I'm the only one who can make myself stronger, more resilient.

I just to have to keep telling myself that I'm going to do this, and I'm not going to beat myself back down.

* * *

 _Author's Note: I think it's funny that the music I listen to for inspiration comes not from any of the Alien movies, but from Pokémon X and Y, Pokémon Sun and Moon, and Subnautica. There's a claim that says music from games are designed to keep you focused, which is why they're good to listen to when writing. Not to mention the recent Pokémon games and Subnautica have amazing soundtracks.  
_

 _I told myself I had to bring McKay back into the picture somehow. He isn't a malicious character; he's simply someone who hung out with Vasquez when they were stationed in Australia and liked her a little. He has no idea about her secret relationship with Drake, and is baffled at Drake's sudden rage. I also can't imagine punching the armor of an Engineer is good for your knuckles.  
_

 _Speaking of Engineers, I am definitely planning on starting a collection of short stories about Aran. I tried starting that today, but got stuck and decided to just sit on the idea before actually putting it in motion. I don't want it to really overtake the Drake series, and I don't want to plunge into it head on without any good ideas for adventures. There's tons of stuff in the Alien extended universe that I can toy with, but I mainly want to present original ideas that add to the lore and focus on building Aran's character._


	4. Chapter 4

As much as my talk with Aran helped, it didn't allow me to sleep peacefully at night. I tossed and turned, wishing I could just fall asleep. When I did, I had nightmares. Everything a person suffering from guilt and shame doesn't want to see. I was forced to relive my past. I had no control over what I was doing. I couldn't stop myself.

I jolted awake around one in the morning. I couldn't go back to sleep. Not if I was going to go back to the past and re-experiencing that pain and loss.

For a moment, I looked out the window. Life in the city went on. No one gave a shit about a nobody like me. I was fine with that. I don't care about them either. Fair's fair.

And yet, I felt like I had a massive space in my heart. It hurt.

A single tear rolled down my right cheek. I didn't want to cry again. Please, dear God, no. No more crying.

I covered my face, that space consuming my chest. For emptiness, it sure was painful. I struggled to cry softly, because I didn't want to wake Aran. I didn't want him to see me like this again. I couldn't.

Throwing my covers off, I ran into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before releasing my breath, and sobbing. I continued to cover my face, feeling as though the whole city was watching me collapse inside myself.

* * *

Aran would awake to find me sitting up in bed with red, puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. He gave me a confused look before getting out of his bed to get a better observation, and decided not to say anything. In fact, he gave me a "one minute" gesture before leaving the room. I stared at the door long after he left, and I sighed while grabbing the remote to turn on the TV.

You know what's funny? Turning on the TV and there's a melodramatic ad describing the exact problem you have. I mean, ads talking about depression and the brand-new antidepressant that's on the market aren't funny, but I still felt like I got punched in the stomach as the voiceover lady described all the things I was feeling right at the moment. Tiredness. Unexplained anger. Sadness. Bouts of crying. Being unable to focus. Guilt and shame that overpower your life because you don't know how to stop blaming yourself for everything.

Truth be told, I don't even know if I have depression, but I know if I was ever diagnosed, my career in the Marines was over. I pressed the mute button, and being flipping through channels until I landed on the overly happy weatherman who probably had four cups of coffee right before going on air.

Ten minutes later, Aran came back, holding a large Styrofoam cup. In that cup was tea. He held the cup out to me, and I said, "What're you doing to me, Aran?"

He grunted at me before holding the cup back out.

"Don't you growl at me." I took the cup, sniffing at the tea before sipping it. "What the hell did you get this for?"

Notebook time. " _It's chamomile tea. I asked the woman at the breakfast bar what the best drink is to give someone who's feeling kind of down, and she suggested this. And she said to feel better_." He paused, and then wrote, " _She was kinda freaked out by me at first_."

"Buddy, you're kind of a big boy, and humans are naturally going to be surprised."

He nodded, and then sat on his bed. " _Are you feeling better?_ "

"Starting to, but it's gonna take a lot more than tea to fix me." I sighed. "I'm sorry I'm not . . . you know, functioning all that well."

Aran didn't offer a reply.

"You're not mad, are you?"

He shook his head.

"Good. I didn't think you were." I took another sip of the tea. "Look, I want to find Hudson soon. We know where those two hospitals are. We'll hop on the Metro when I'm done with this." I saw Aran go for his notebook, but I cleared my throat. "I don't want breakfast. Don't even think about asking me whether or not I want breakfast. I'm not hungry. I'll skip every meal today if it means I can find Hudson."

Aran sighed, and I got the feeling he was going to drag me downstairs like yesterday. Luckily, he didn't, but he did threaten me if I kept refusing to eat.

Come on. He's stronger than me, and in better shape. I'm not taking his threats as a joke.

* * *

I didn't eat much for breakfast, and I didn't have any coffee, either. Aran was getting pushy when it came to trying to help me, and I was planning to hunger strike if he didn't back off for a few hours.

Does that seem like a bit of a stretch? I don't care. I don't care at all.

While gnawing on a bagel, I glanced to my right to see Mathias, the android we saw yesterday. He was standing in a hunched position near the front of a shop across from us, not doing much of anything other than swaying gently back and forth. Part of me wanted to go see how he was doing and whether or not he had been fixed. Privately, I doubted that, but it wouldn't hurt to try. Standing up, I walked over to him, with the bagel. "Hey, Mathias. How's everything?"

As if on cue, Mathias started coughing. "Everything's fine . . . um . . . Drake, is it? I'm sorry. I'm not all that good with remembering names . . . not in my programming."

 _That's definitely strange._ "It's alright. Did you get fixed for your coughing at all?"

Mathias wrung his hands, looking down at the floor. "Oh, no, no, no. No, that's . . . that's not possible."

I frowned. "How is that not possible? You're broken."

"I know. That's how I'm supposed to be."

"Why? That's kinda fucked up."

"You're not authorized to know why. I'm sorry, Drake." Without looking back, Mathias jogged away, leaving a trail of white droplets.

* * *

This thing with Mathias was going to bother me until I found out the truth of why he's broken, but my primary goal was finding Hudson. We've wasted enough time already, and we can't waste anymore.

Aran followed me through the front gates of a USCM hospital. The grounds within the fence had been torn up, and I saw a sign stating that Weyland-Yutani was adding on to the building. I could sense Aran's nervousness as we walked up the steps and into the lobby, and it got worse when just about every employee there stared at him.

Unable to take the attention, Aran ran back outside. I took a breath, hoping he'd be waiting outside later on. Approaching the front desk, I took out my I.D., and asked the receptionist if Hudson was there.

She quickly turned to her computer and scrolled through some names. "Private William Hudson?"

"Yes," I said.

"He's in Intensive Care Unit Three-Six-four. Let me call and make sure he's conscious."

I leaned against the desk while waiting. I heard someone on the other line say, "Who's trying to see Hudson?"

"It's a Private Mark Drake, Doctor," the receptionist replied.

"Send him down. Hudson's going to be awake for another hour or so, then we're putting him back under for observation."

The receptionist hung up, and looked at me. "Go to your left, and you'll see a sign that says 'surgical labs.' Follow that sign until you come to a sign reading 'ICU,' then look for room number three-six-four, OK?"

I nodded, shoving my I.D. in my pocket before walking briskly in that direction. As soon as I passed the "surgical labs" sign, I entered a very quiet and spooky place. The only sounds were the steady beeping of heartrate monitors, breathing machines, and the occasional paging of a doctor or nurse. I got the feeling that I really shouldn't be here.

A chill ran down my spine as I rounded a corner into another hallway leading to the labs, and the sign for the intensive care units. I was thinking about when I was laying in a bed for hours after getting my first experience with the silver flowers, and when I was wandering the orbital station with Winnie, hunting for the intruder that cut the power.

I breathed a slight sigh of relief when I came across the sign for the ICU, and followed it until I saw the number 364. Peering through the glass, I knocked on the door, and a man wearing a surgical mask answered.

"Are you Private Drake?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Come on in." Looking at me, the man added, "He just woke up an hour ago, so, be careful, alright? I'll be back in a few minutes. Press the blue 'call' button if you need anything."

Hudson was sitting upright on the edge of a pod-like structure with its glass dome wide open. There were no blankets or sheets. Just wires and small patches that were probably taped to Hudson's chest while he was sleeping. The thing looked uncomfortable to be in, so I was glad I wasn't the one stuck in it. Hudson looked drained. Literally. His cheeks were somewhat hollow, and I could see a couple ribs through the white, skin-tight suit he was wearing. There wasn't a lot of color in his face, except for the dark circles under his eyes. When he saw me, he didn't even want to roughly shake my hand; he just looked at me, dazed and exhausted.

I had no idea what to say. I couldn't ask how he was feeling, because I knew exactly how he was feeling, and the last thing I wanted was to look like a complete dumbass.

Thankfully, I didn't have to be the first to speak. After groping around a small table for a glass of water, Hudson said, "What're you doing here, Drake?" His voice cracked a little, like he hadn't used it in some time.

 _Should I be honest?_ I rubbed my face. The thing about Hornby would probably fly over his fevered head, but I also didn't want to have a deep conversation about my guilt so early on. "You know I pulled you out of that building, right?"

"Vaguely remember that, yeah. I also remember . . . an albino standing over me. Was that real, or was I still hallucinating?"

I held back a smirk, knowing that was the most inappropriate thing to do here. "That was real. Doctor Delhoun had to revive you with Hicks's medkit."

Hudson really wasn't himself that day. I felt bad, knowing that feeling all too well. There were a lot of smartass things he could've said, but there was too much exhaustion written all over his face. In a way, I felt like he wanted to talk about what he went through, and I was the perfect person to listen because I went through the same thing.

Of course, I didn't want to talk about it the first time, so I had to stoke the fire a little to get him to say something. The short moments of silence were awkward and uncomfortable, especially since we never really sat down to talk to each other about personal stuff like this. I was usually very cold and closed off toward Hudson, and most of the other Marines, for that matter. The only one I ever really opened up to was Vasquez. I never saw a reason to even try and develop a bond deeper than what was considered professional with anyone else. "You wanna talk about what happened?" I tried not to sound pressuring. He knew that I had experience with the stupid flowers. Surely, that'd make him more comfortable talking to me.

Hudson took a breath. I could hear his lungs and diaphragm struggling to complete that action. It would be awhile before his breathing was normal again, but just like his mind, his body was traumatized by the ordeal. "We've both been wounded in combat before," he said. "Sure, we were scared, but, why is that . . . not the same as this? Is it the nightmares and the hallucinations . . . ?"

"Maybe. I dunno," I replied. "We knew what we were getting into when we enlisted. I guess we didn't expect something like this." I glanced at him. "What'd you see in your dreams and hallucinations? You tell me what you saw and I'll tell you what I saw."

"Well, I remember walking into that abandoned building, looking for you. It was really cold in there. Then, I walked up the steps, onto that floor, and I remember feeling dizzy and not being able to breathe."

My chest started to tighten with bad memories.

"Fell over, and saw these giant jungle trees starting to rise up around me. One of them dropped a vine, and I was trying to grab it, but it was out of reach. Somehow, I still wanted to grab it. Then you came, and your voice sounded really far away, and had this echo to it."

I drew in a breath, the tightening sensation spreading down to my stomach.

"Everything was blurry and muffled. I saw you, the albino, and I think Hicks was there, too. Everyone was yelling, but it all sounded far away. I think I remember being put in the back of a vehicle. There were guys in there and one of them put a mask on my face, and that's when everything went black."

"Did you dream?"

Hudson nodded, and took a drink of water. "You remember being on LV-400?"

"I don't want to, but I do."

"Well, I saw myself there, in the deep snow, and there were bodies hanging from the tree branches. Yours, Hicks's, everyone's. I was completely alone. It . . . It was nighttime, and I was trying to find a way to survive or get off the planet or something. A big gust of snow came by, whited out the whole area, and then I look up and see some of the bodies are gone. Hicks had a burn mark on the left side of his face. You had the same thing, but there was also a mark on your chest. Then, the little creatures with the gas masks appeared, and they started screaming and howling. When the last howl faded off, I was suddenly wandering around this big city. People are everywhere, just going about their day, and I look at myself and see I've got blood all over. It's on my face and my neck and my chest and my back, my legs, everywhere, and no one's giving a shit. I wasn't in any pain, either, but . . . I just wanted to cry, and when I started crying, _then_ I was in pain." Some color had returned to Hudson's face; a touch of redness. It was in his cheeks and his eyes. He took another labored breath, and looked down at the floor.

I was silent for some time, because I didn't think anything I could say would be very helpful.

Eventually, Hudson regained eye contact with me. "You're not gonna tell anyone 'bout this, are you?"

I shook my head. "Not one person." I sighed. "I get it. Believe me, I'm still . . . I'm still trying to process everything that happened to me when I breathed in that toxin. I mean, nothing was actually happening. It was all in my head. It was just nightmares." A realization smacked me in the back of my head. "Apone's right; I gotta drop the load of shit I'm carrying around, but . . . I can't. If I'm suffering because of a couple of bad dreams . . . I'm weak, aren't I?"

Well, hello there, o familiar feeling of failure. Can't seem to fuck off, now, can you? That feeling of failure was combined with the realization that I was a weak person. It choked me, but I wasn't about to cry in front of Hudson.

It was all over my face though. Suddenly, I couldn't bear to make eye contact with anyone. I quickly stood up. "I . . . I gotta get going," I said. "I'll come back tomorrow."

What I did was wrong. I shouldn't have ended that so early. I was just pushing him closer and closer to Hornby.

This really is all my fault.


	5. Chapter 5

I hit my lowest point that day. I'm still having an adrenaline rush because of it, and I'm not going to stop calling myself stupid until I get a good reason why I shouldn't.

I honestly wanted to run away. I wanted to hide. My hatred for myself was running deeper and deeper into my heart. I pitied Vasquez for falling in love with me. I thought Delhoun was blind for thinking I had potential. I thought Aran was just plain stupid for caring about me.

Something was telling me that it was still possible for me to fix all of this. After all, I was still in the hospital. I wasn't that far away from Hudson's room. I have to stop feeling sorry for myself. I have to stop hating myself.

While trying to shove the horrid thoughts out of my head, I turned around, running back toward Hudson's room. I skidded to a halt when I found the door was closed. And locked.

I grabbed the doorknob, trying to force it open. Looking through the glass, I saw the doctor from earlier was back, and he was fitting a heavy breathing mask over Hudson's face. Panic began to pulsate throughout my veins as I pounded on the door. "Not yet!" I yelled. "Not yet! I need to talk to him!"

Glancing over his shoulder, the doctor gave me a confused frown, and walked over to the door to pull the shades down.

"No! _No! Hudson!_ " I pounded on the door again, despite knowing how futile it was. Slowly, I collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down my face. "No . . . I just . . ." I balled my fists. "I'm sorry, Hudson."

I heard two pairs of footsteps behind me, and then I looked up to see two men in lab coats. "It's time for you to go, Private," one of them said.

"No, you don't understand! I need to get in there! There's something I gotta say-"

"Come back in three days." Both men grabbed me by my arms.

"I'm not leaving until you let me see Hudson!"

"You had your chance to see him."

I growled. "Let go, Goddammit!"

When one of them squeezed my arm so hard I screamed, I realized I wasn't dealing with humans, but androids. They dragged me all the way back to the lobby, barely reacting whenever I howled and tried to pull away. I swore at them, and even tried to punch one, but his companion continued to tighten his grip to the point where I was crying in pain.

Pushing open the main door, the androids tossed me outside. "For your behavior," one of them said, giving me a cold stare, "you are hereby barred from this facility for three days. Have a good afternoon, Private."

The doors were shut, but that didn't stop me from grabbing a rock and throwing it at them. "I'm gonna find whoever made you two so I can shove my smartgun up their ass! I'll make you sorry you were even created!"

I was so busy yelling at them that didn't even see Aran walk up next to me. He watched me kick rocks and angrily slam my fist into the ground. When I did see him, I reached up to grab his shoulders and shake him. "Why the fuck can't I do anything right?!" I hollered, tears running down my cheeks. "I fucked up! I lost my head in front of Hudson!" I pounded my left fist against Aran's armor with every word I spoke. " _THIS ISN'T FAIR! I can't do a single fucking thing right! I've left him thinking I'm weak!"_

Aran did nothing while I cried and left snot all over. He waited until I exhausted myself, and then patted my head, gently.

My head hurt from crying so hard, and I felt stupid. "Aran, I'm sorry," I said, hoarsely. "I'm sorry you have to see this every fucking day you're around me." I realized I was about to put myself down. "I should've . . . handled this better."

Well, that actually made Aran smile. He took a napkin from the bag of donuts he was carrying, and wiped my face with it. The smell of warm pastries seemed to press a button in my brain that told me I didn't eat much that day, and Aran began gently nudging me off the grounds of the hospital when he heard my stomach growl.

As we walked to go somewhere for lunch, I told Aran what happened with Hudson, leaving out the details about his nightmares because I did promise I wouldn't say anything, after all. I was honest about how I jumped to the conclusion that I was weak because I was struggling to comprehend my own nightmares and couldn't seem to push any kind of guilt and shame off my conscience.

Aran didn't give me a reply until we sat down. We didn't go to the same place we did last night, and instead, we went to a much larger and fancier restaurant halfway between the hospital and the Metro station. He wrote out his response while I ordered us both drinks, and then handed me his notebook before I could pick up a menu.

" _Drake, you're only weak if you let these things control you. I know there are instances where you feel like you have no control, but you have to keep telling yourself that they're just bad thoughts and dreams. You might be the only person that can help Hudson when he's finally released. You know what this is like and you know how bad it makes you feel. I know it sounds cruel, but having someone sharing that experience can help the both of you._ "

Sighing, I said, "How do I help someone else when I can't even help myself?"

" _I think you actually have to attempt to help someone else before you see any results with yourself._ "

"Am I allowed to say that sounds stupid?"

" _I'm not saying go out and help everyone. Just one person. Your friend_."

"Alright. Hudson and I aren't even friends. We just work in the same place. We don't sit and talk to each other the way friends would."

" _You obviously have some kind of connection. Otherwise, you wouldn't be afraid that you're responsible for what happened. Maybe you haven't had the kind of conversations that you've had with me or Delhoun, but working with someone for a long time can lead to kind of bond that's different, but also similar to what you have with me or Delhoun_."

I shrugged. "If you say so. Look, I'm banned from going in that hospital for three days, so I've got time to fuck around and think about it." I opened the menu, looking through my options and feeling my appetite decrease a little every time I saw an incredibly high price.

My heart jumped in my throat when I saw none other than McKay walking toward the table. He didn't look too happy, and immediately, he opened our conversation with some colorful language. "I've got a couple of questions for you, you son-of-bitch." He shoved my right arm, the same that got squeezed by the androids from earlier. That shove was particularly painful.

I winced a little, but I wouldn't let him see that. "Yeah, fucker, what kinda questions?"

"Oh, I dunno, how about why you flipped your shit on me when all I was doing was asking a simple, friendly question last night? You're Goddamn lucky I didn't tell my C.O. about that."

"Well, why didn't you tell your C.O., you idiot?"

"Why? Because I'd rather sort this out myself. We're not supposed to be fighting each other. I'm sure there's a harmless misunderstanding here somewhere that we just need to . . . talk out. Like normal people."

I rolled my eyes. "There was no misunderstanding. I don't appreciate you trying to hit on Vasquez."

"OK, there's a good start. Why couldn't you have simply said that?"

"Last night was last night. Let's start the fuck over." I folded my arms over my chest. "The reason I don't want you hitting on Vasquez is because her and I are already together."

I remained stoic as I watched McKay's hopes and dreams get crushed. That slight shudder of his body told me his heart had fallen in his stomach, and he gave me a simple "Oh. OK, I . . . I didn't know."

"You can't say a word to anyone."

"W-"

I grit my teeth. "You. Cannot. Say. A word. To. Anyone. Got it?"

Nervously, McKay slid into the seat next to Aran, whispering, "Why?"

I took a breath, unsure of whether or not I wanted to tell parts of my life story to him. "First off, I'm sorry about last night. Second, I don't like telling my story to strange people, so, again, don't tell anyone what you're hearing, OK?"

McKay nodded.

"You know about the program where they let juvenile delinquents into the military as a second chance?"

Another nod.

"That's where me and Vasquez came from. Long story short, we met in prison, formed a relationship, and we keep it secret from people because that's how we like it." Despite how massively shortened that was, I still felt like I broke some kind of rule for telling it to someone I barely trusted. I kept a straight face, watching McKay think about it for a minute.

"Don't worry about a thing, Drake, I won't tell your secrets to anyone," he said with a shrug. "Gossip's not my thing, man."

My expression didn't change. "I don't care as long as you say nothing."

McKay was about to stand up and go back to his table when he held out his hand to me. "Look, if you ever need someone to talk to, my door's open. I mean, I hope you don't mind we try and get off on the right foot this time."

This guy's main problem is that he's trying to wear his heart on his sleeve. Your heart belongs in your chest, protected by your ribcage. Don't expose it. That makes it easier for people to hurt you. I took his hand, shaking it roughly. "No, I don't mind," I said.

McKay smiled. "Alright. See you around, Drake."

"Yeah." As soon as his back was turned, I flipped him off.

* * *

I've basically been sitting and writing ever since we got back to the hotel room after lunch. I'm surprised at how much I've gotten down, and how much I still loathe myself, even though I've start to come to grips with all that's happened. Today's experience was a lesson in how much I need to learn to control myself. It was also a lesson that said I needed to not be so cold when it came to people I barely knew.

The next time I see McKay, I need to apologize to him again, because he didn't deserve what I did. I know why I was so closed off, but I also know that it was stupid of me to be so.

This morning, I was crying in the bathroom, upset with myself, feeling like everyone was watching me collapse in myself. Now, I'm sitting up in bed, feeling like I've put a metal case around myself, trying to keep people from seeing that I'm in pain. I've got too much on my mind, and I wish I could alleviate that somehow. I wish knew exactly what to do for each of my problems.

And I wish I wasn't standing in my own way.

* * *

I'm up early again because I can't sleep. Instead of repeat nightmares from when I was hovering above death after breathing the toxin of silver flowers, I had a dream where I was standing in front of ICU room 364. The door was locked, and I could see the doctor from yesterday opening the life-support pod where Hudson lay. I became anxious and afraid, and even a little angry. The doctor took the breathing mask and all the electrical patches off of Hudson, and helped him sit up. He looked worse than before-significantly thinner, paler, and more exhausted.

"Drake was here, wasn't he?" Hudson asked. "Coulda sworn he was here a minute ago."

"No, he's not here. We had to throw him out," the doctor replied. "He was getting . . . unruly."

"Throw him out?" A trace of the Hudson I've always known was starting to come back. "You can't do that, man! He sounded like he was hurting!"

"I'm sorry, but he was trying to break in the room-"

"That's bullshit, man, he probably changed his mind and wanted to keep talking! Where is he?! _Where is he?!_ "

The dream ended there. I don't know what to think of it. On one hand, I've been afraid my dreams carry meaning. On the other, I feel like I need to tell myself it's just a dream. It didn't happen. It's not a sign of anything.

I'm also awake because shortly after jolting up from that dream, I noticed the light on the phone was blinking. Grabbing it, I said breathlessly, "Who the hell is this?"

"I take it you're up bright and early, Drake?" the familiar voice of Doctor Delhoun said.

"This trip has not been going well," I sighed, hoping this didn't wake up Aran. "Not going well at all."

"What's going on?" Delhoun asked, sounding concerned.

"I . . . I'm having a hard time . . . trying to control everything going on in my head right now. I got pissed off at Aran. I told him that I wanted to be thrown out the window. I yelled at someone in a restaurant. I completely fucked up my talk with Hudson." I rubbed my face. "I wish I knew what to do."

"There isn't much I can suggest you do," Delhoun replied. "It sounds like you're taking all of your traumatic experiences very hard."

I groaned. "Delhoun . . . I can't be suffering from some kind of problem. I'll get discharged. I'll have nowhere to go. My second chance . . . I can't let that go. I can't fail."

"This isn't anything to be ashamed of, son. It happens. It's not your fault."

"But-"

"Listen to me. You don't have only two chances at life. You can have a third or fourth or fifth chance. Post-traumatic stress isn't something you can just deal with on your own. You need help."

A lump formed in my throat. "I can't just quit!"

"You're not quitting-"

" _Yes, I am!_ "

"No, you're not. Quitting is throwing yourself out the window."

I took a deep breath, processing what Delhoun said. My insides felt heavy, and my thoughts began flooding my head, like a busted pipe. I didn't feel this way after getting sent to prison. Maybe I gave myself a swift punch in the jaw, knocked myself down, but I got back up. I got back up and I tried to keep going, even though guilt was tagging along like a mangy stray animal.

My thoughts abruptly turned to when we were going to drop over LV-400, to my fear of failure. I had beat myself down again, and I struggled to get back up. I crawled throughout that mission, and then got back up when I was with Delhoun. Then, I beat myself back down when Vasquez and I had an argument. Again, I crawled. I just kept getting weaker and weaker. I kept telling myself I was never going to get back up, so I kicked myself in the chest, and I'm still laying there.

I have to get back up. I have to.

"Delhoun?" I said.

"Yes? Are you OK?"

"Do you think . . . I can be helped . . . and stay with the Marines?"

Delhoun thought for a moment. I could hear the squeaks of his chair as he swiveled back and forth in it. "Let me see what I can do, alright? Now, I called because I've got news on Hornby-"

Someone started knocking on the door. I threw the covers off and grabbed a pair of pants, still holding the phone to my ear. "There's someone at the door," I grunted, "Hold on a minute." Yanking up my pants, I quickly walked over to the door, opening it to find a dazed Mathias.

Holding himself up in the doorway, Mathias was drooling white fluid. He looked like he'd seen some shit, and he glanced up at me, struggling to talk. "I . . . I-I-I . . . I've c-come to t-tell you . . . Drake . . . that you've been . . . you've been barred from the hospital . . . for three d-days." His knees buckled, and I grabbed him.

"Delhoun? Are you still there?" I said.

"Yeah? What's going on?"

"I need you to do a little digging for me. Search Weyland-Yutani's records for android models named 'Mathias.'"

* * *

 _Author's Note: Part of me feels like the chapter before this one was the worst thing I'd ever written, but then I told myself it couldn't be; that's the one where Drake has his talk with Hudson. I was afraid of being disloyal to Hudson's character, but no one is themselves when they're ill. I can't wait to write him when he's a bit healthier.  
_

 _The thing about writing a character for so long is that they start to take on a mind of their own. That's kind of what I'm experiencing with Drake. I know it would be unrealistic and boring for him to suddenly get better. He's already aware of what's wrong, but going about improving is going to be a challenge, one that's starting to overshadow the plot. The overarching plot of this series is Drake's personal struggle with his past, but I can't ignore that fact that this particular story's plot revolves more around Hudson.  
_

 _Frankly, I'm glad that people are enjoying this story for its portrayal of emotion within a character. I'm not the world's greatest writer for sure, but the fact that I've found a strong point is wonderful. I'm looking forward to Drake attempting to help Hudson with dealing with the aftereffects of the silver flowers. That will challenging, and feel free to hypothesize that it won't be even remotely close to successful. Happy reading._


	6. Chapter 6

I laid Mathias on my bed, then grabbed a towel to wrap around his neck to catch the white drool. He didn't say anything, and continued to shudder while I waited impatiently for Delhoun to respond with what he found over the phone. _There's gotta be something we can do,_ I thought.

"You said the model's name is Mathias?" Delhoun asked.

"Yes."

"OK, here's what I've got: the Mathias model is restricted to both private and public med schools around the globe. It's basically a live-in practice dummy for students in their third year and over."

I frowned. "Is that all?"

"No. A document from a university in D.C. says these androids are made with defects on purpose. They're far more anatomically correct than any other model, but a number of issues are springing up because this is the first real test for these things."

"Like what?"

"Hang on, hang on . . . Ah! This same documents say over a hundred androids have been reported to be leaking fluids internally, damaging artificial circulation and memory drives. Some have even been displaying problems with emotional processing, leading to either failure in recognizing emotions in humans or even mimicking similar symptoms to disorders in humans like depression." Delhoun's voice trailed off a little. "Dear God. Drake, how come you asked me to look this up?"

"Because I'm dealing with one of these androids. It's got a bad cough, and it almost passed out in front of me."

"Well, you can't get it repaired. He likely has a chip in him that states what university and student he belongs to. It's illegal for you to tamper with him."

I gave a frustrated sigh. "How illegal?"

"Up to eight years in prison."

"Yeah, I don't want that. Is there anything at all we can do?"

"Unfortunately, no. I'm sorry. You'll have to contact the police and let them know what's going-"

Mathias grabbed my neck, and I dropped the phone. He started shaking me, squeezing my throat in the process. I took his wrists, trying to pull them off. White fluid was running down the sides of his mouth, and I was reminded of when I was trying to rescue Hudson, how he was choking with spit dripping down the bottom of his cheeks.

"Miss Miranda," he whimpered. "Miss Miranda . . . why'd you leave me outside? What'd I do wrong?"

He was talking nonsense while choking me. I was having a panic attack as horrid thoughts of lying on the floor while the silver flower toxins flooded my lungs. I was trying to keep breathing, and I couldn't.

The hands suddenly left my throat, and I gasped for breath. Aran was holding down Mathias's arms while he continued to whine. I collapsed on the floor, my mind being a little slow in realizing my body wasn't in danger anymore.

Delhoun was still on the phone, and I could hear him shouting my name. I grabbed the phone from the floor, breathlessly saying, "I'm here! I'm OK! Mathias . . . tried to choke me."

"Drake, call the police _now!_ They can deal with malfunctioning androids. Drake, he could seriously hurt you."

"I know!"

Mathias was struggling against Aran while crying. White tears were running down his cheeks, and then he hollered, " _I tried to care! It's not my fault! I'm so sorry!_ " He backhanded Aran, forcing himself off the bed, then took a moment to vomit into the trash can between the two beds.

I threw open the door, running into the hallway. Mathias appeared in the doorway, and then charged at me. I sprinted toward the stairs, my heart pounding hard against my ribcage. Of all the times where I wasn't armed . . .

Pushing open the door to the stairway, I ran as fast as I could, knowing full well Mathias was behind me. He was saying something about how "Miss Miranda" had cared for him and didn't know why that stopped. I felt all my organs fly up into my throat when I realized I missed a step, and I tumbled down the rest of the stairs. Pain seared through my left ankle as it twisted the wrong way, and I let out a yelp. Laying at the base of the stairs, I looked up to see Mathias glaring down at me, a disturbed look in his eyes.

"My ankle was broken once. The bad woman . . . The bad woman would take me in every week and do something . . . One week, she broke my ankle. Miss Miranda . . . you fixed it. You made it all better." More tears flowed down Mathias's face. "Why'd you abandon me when I needed you most? When all I want is to feel better?"

I pulled myself up, trying not to step on my ankle. Not once did I look back at Mathias. I had to get to the lobby and tell someone I was being chased by a malfunctioning android.

I knew why Aran wasn't coming after us; he's scared of androids. He never went into detail, just that they've done his people harm in the past. I can understand that, but I also wished he'd put his fear behind him and help me. My ankle was throbbing, my heart was pounding, and my stomach was tightening. I shoved open the door to the lobby with my shoulder, and almost fell. Scrambling upright was difficult, mainly due to my ankle, but also because I was wearing socks on a waxed floor. I could hear Mathias coming down the stairs, and I slammed shut the door, hoping that would delay him for awhile.

Dash-limping down the hall to the lobby, I began to wonder if this was all just a nightmare, but the pain shooting up and down my leg was all too real for that to be a possibility. People stared at me as I shirtless and bootless (and limping) into the lobby, and I stopped in front of a security guard.

"What the hell is this?" the guard asked I was catching my breath. "Do you not see the sign? 'No shirt, no shoes-'"

"Sir, there's a damaged android in the hall, just outside the stairway," I said. "He tried to choke me in my room. I need help."

"Alright. Stay with me." The guard pulled a radio link from his belt. "Hey, Sarge? I'm gonna need some extra guys up here in the lobby. Someone said there's a malfunctioning android near the stairway." He looked at me. "What's your name?"

"Mark Drake." I got a chance to look down at my ankle, noting how swollen it was. "You think you can get an ambulance, too? I hurt my left ankle on the way down."

Here's the thing: in any other situation, I would've toughed out the ankle. If I get sent to a hospital, there's a good chance I'll be sent to the same one as Hudson. Maybe I could sneak out and see him.

* * *

In short, I didn't even get sent to a hospital. While the security guards took care of Mathias, the medics simply put me in the back of the vehicle to look me over. I sat there and felt dumb over the fact that I really thought I'd get driven to the hospital for something as minor as a twisted ankle. The medics were nice guys, though, and offered me a drink on them. As much as I wanted it, I had to decline.

I left the ambulance wearing a bulky brace, and saw the guards and a group of uniformed men dragging Mathias out of the hotel to an armored vehicle parked near the ambulance. Mathias was silent and lifeless, which suggested he was either stunned or deactivated completely. Frankly, I hoped he was going to be OK, because a lot of what he was saying bothered me, even if it was complete nonsense.

Although, it might not be complete nonsense. Part of me wondered who "Miss Miranda" was. Was she the student Mathias was assigned to? Was she still a student? If so, where was she studying? Did she really abandon Mathias? I honestly wanted to find out, but another part of me said that was stupid and deviated too far from the task at hand.

I returned to the hotel room to find a maid changing the sheets on my bed, and Aran was hiding in the bathroom. After waiting for the maid to leave, I collapsed on the bed, then yelled for Aran to come out. Shyly, he did, and went over to his bed and sat down, giving me a scared and almost ashamed look.

"What?" I said. "Did Mathias make you nervous?"

Aran nodded.

"Well, he was trying to hurt me, and I could've used your help, big guy." I gestured to the brace. "I probably wouldn't have twisted my ankle if you stopped him."

Aran's face fell. He stood up, and gave me a hug.

"Don't feel bad, OK? That's my job. I feel bad about everything, even if it's not my fault." Sighing, I pulled away from Aran, and looked at the clock, seeing it was only four-thirty in the morning. "Oh my God, is it really still this far away from morning?"

Aran glanced at the clock as well, and then nodded. He lay down on his bed, looking at me while I tried to get comfortable.

"I really don't know how I feel about this trip," I said. "Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong."

* * *

It was around seven when I next awoke, finding a line of drool on my face and a big patch of it on the pillow. I realized I had been sleeping on my stomach, and became aware of the dull ache in my lower back. Moving onto my back, I remembered that I injured myself last night, and I was wearing a boot brace on my left foot.

And then I remembered what I said to Aran: "Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong." I still think I'm right.

The last three days have been really repetitive, and I hate it. I wake up. I don't want to eat breakfast. Aran tries to get me to eat breakfast. I eat without an appetite, which means I barely eat anything, which means I'm starving not too long afterward. I feel bitchy. I hate myself. Some outside influence makes me hate myself even more. Aran tries to convince me that everything is OK and that I'm hurting myself internally. We go out to lunch or dinner and do nothing for the rest of the day.

I made it a priority not to make today a repeat of yesterday and the day before. Another heavy feeling started in my chest when I began contemplating exactly how to do that. I didn't want to be hungry, or tired, or angry, or sad. I didn't want to feel a thing.

My thoughts abruptly turned to the phone conversation with Delhoun last night, about how I'm likely dealing with post-traumatic stress. I really don't want that stuck to me, and if it's true, I don't want people to find out. I know I'll be discharged from the Marines. I'll be out on the streets with nowhere to go. I'll be a nobody, a man tormented by visions that aren't real.

Not wanting to delve too deep into my thoughts again, I figured I needed to be alone for a few hours. For once, I had no appetite, but I also had no desire to be around people. I felt like there were weights on my shoulders. In an almost paranoid fashion, I looked in a mirror, afraid everything that was wrong with me was written all over my face. Very little relief came from the fact that nothing was there.

I left the room without any money, walking down the hall until I came to an elevator. After pressing the call button, I stepped back, wondering where I was going. As I waited, a man in a rumpled business suit came over. He stopped when he saw the elevator had already been called, and breathed a slight sigh of relief. He looked as though he had just woke up.

Immediately, I tried to appear like nothing was wrong, but as I put on a brave face, the weights on my shoulders became heavier. I had an overwhelming urge to collapse and cry.

The doors opened, and we stepped into the elevator. The man pressed the button for the lobby, and glanced at me. "You're going down to the lobby?"

I nodded.

"Every morning. Gotta grab a coffee or two and then head on to the conference room. We could've had this thing all in one day, but, no. Doctor Madell has to give the students time to wander around. I mean, she could've had the conference yesterday, and save today for the sightseeing."

Something clicked in my brain. "Are these . . . students from med school?"

"Yeah. Howard University. It's a very select group, too. Only six students. They could've handled a full-day conference."

"Is there someone in there named Miranda?"

The man nodded. "Miranda Harrison. Why? You know her?"

"I know her android."

"She got rid of it. Not sure why, but she filed in a request for a different one. I just send the papers around the campus. I don't read them."

"Is she staying at this hotel?"

"Yep."

"Can I have her room number?"

"Buddy, do you think I'm going to just give a random stranger the room number of a young college student?"

"Mathias attacked me last night. I'd like to talk to Miranda about why she ditched him. He was going on and on about how he was abandoned, and that's bothering me."

The man took a breath, mulling over his decision. "If I find out you went ahead and hurt one of my students, I'll personally break your other ankle, got it?"

"I don't want to hurt anyone," I said. "What's her room number?"

"Eight-two-four."

"Thanks."

The elevator stopped at the lobby, and the guy turned to face me before getting out. "Remember what I said, buddy. I don't want to get any phone calls about funny business with my students."

"You won't get any phone calls, I promise." I closed the doors, pressing the button to go back up.


	7. Chapter 7

The floor was very quiet as I stepped off the elevator, glancing left and right for room 824. Sure, finding the room was easy, but going up to the door and knocking on it wasn't. Taking a breath, I knocked on the door, and heard someone quickly walk over.

A young woman with long, messy brown hair and large, almond-shaped glasses answered the door. Her face went pale when she saw me, and said, "Who are you?"

"My name's Mark Drake. You're Miranda Harrison, right?"

"Yes, I am." She started slowly closing the door. "Look, I didn't order anything and I don't know who you are. I have to go downstairs in a half-hour, and-"

"I need to talk to you about your android."

"I don't have an android. Please, go away."

"You did have an android. His name's Mathias."

"I'll hit you if you don't leave!"

"Mathias tried to choke me last night." I grabbed the doorknob, preventing her from closing it. "He's also broken. Pretty badly, I might add. In his fit of absolute madness, he said your name, multiple times, saying how much you cared about him and how he tried to care back."

"My God, why can't you leave?!"

"I'm not leaving till I get some answers outta you! I've dealt with enough shit on this trip, and I'm not putting up with anymore!"

That brought silence from Miranda. She had a look of defeat, and let go of the doorknob. "Why the hell does a broken android matter to you?"

"Well, let's see. As a Marine, I have an android attached to my unit and I have some idea of how they generally behave. I saw Mathias on the Metro a couple of days ago coughing up a storm and I thought, 'Gee, androids aren't supposed to do that. Lemme ask what's wrong.'" I got a lot of really foggy answers from him, and I'd like to know just what the fuck his problem is."

Miranda sighed. "Come inside." She gestured to a chair next to the window. "Sit. You want some coffee?"

"Sure." I was slightly baffled at the fact I managed to make her talk. "So, what happened?"

"Mathias had a lot of problems. That's the simplest answer I can give you," Miranda replied, pouring coffee from a small coffeemaker into two cups. "A few years ago, someone suggested that the practice dummies used in med school were outdated, and we should move on to more realistic and accurate methods of practicing surgery. What do they decide on? Androids. They had to be very specific, though, because a regular android's innards look nothing like a human's. There was some debate about how its brain should work. Someone must've said we shouldn't make it like a Seegson model, where it feels nothing. We need to put as much emotional and physical and psycho-awareness programming into it as possible, that way students feel like they're working with a real human, and will be less likely to screw up. What'd they do? They took parts from the Bishop models and tried to enhance it."

"And how well did that work out?" I asked, sarcastically.

Miranda shook her head. "They work, but the problem is that androids can't contract infections or get hurt the way humans do. Every week or so, Mathias would be taken out of my campus apartment, damaged in some way, and I had to use my knowledge to fix him. When I first got him, I didn't know what to expect, but I certainly didn't expect him to become so . . . so sad. He'd start to cry in the middle of the night, and then he'd call for me. If I didn't respond quick enough, he'd keep crying. He was always very scared. Even when he was fixed and better, he'd tell me how much he was afraid of the professors coming to take him away and break him. I couldn't do anything about it." She looked down at the small table between us, and I noticed a tear rolling down her right cheek. "It got to a point where I couldn't have people over. Mathias was skittish and I couldn't tell him to stay in his room because he'd spend the whole time crying. I couldn't leave my apartment at night because I'd come home to find him in the bathroom or the living room or the kitchenette or somewhere just lying on the floor and moaning about how lonely he was."

"So you dealt with it by abandoning him?"

"No. I told myself that actual patients could be like this, or even worse, so I sat down with Mathias to just talk to him. When I started doing that, he actually became somewhat calmer. He started trying to care about my well-being also, but whenever he was taken away, things changed. I'd come back to my apartment to find him with either a broken bone or a mimicked infection or a bad cut, and all he wanted was to feel better. That was it.

"Again, he'd be up at all hours, and cried all the time, and . . . when I started dating my ex-boyfriend, Mathias kinda lost it. He was so afraid of being abandoned. No matter how many times I told him I wasn't doing that, he wouldn't stop panicking. Well, I got mad, and I decided to go on a lengthy date. Right after classes got out, I met up with Peter and we went to the movies, we went to dinner, and took a long walk around the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial and the Reflecting Pool. I returned to my apartment around eleven o'clock and found a lake of white fluid that spread from the living room, down the hall to the linen closet. Mathias was in his room, coughing, and throwing up in a bucket. I didn't want to deal with him. Not again. Not when I had such a wonderful night. I told him to get up and follow me. I told him I was going to make him feel better. I walked outside the campus with him, got a Metro ride to Crystal City, and left him there."

My coffee was lukewarm by the time I noticed it sitting in front of me. Thoughts churning, I picked up my drink and stared at it, occasionally glancing at Miranda. "Do you feel bad about it?"

"In a way, I do. I don't think . . . abandoning him was the best course of action, but, I just couldn't take the sadness and how demanding he was. It was starting to weigh on me and I had a hard time feeling happy because of him. Even when I would sit down to watch TV and there was something really funny on, or when someone told me something happy or funny or anything that would make a person smile, Mathias was always on the back of my mind, and I found it difficult to smile." She looked up at me. "Do you understand that at all?"

I swallowed past a lump in my throat. "Yeah, actually, I do. Lately, I've been dealing with some . . . issues I won't go into detail with, and, yeah, I've been having a hard time feeling happy. Hell, I haven't smiled at all since I got here a few days ago."

"Guess you're not here on vacation, then."

"Well, yes and no. Again, it's not something I'm fond of talking about with people."

"But you barge in here and expect me to tell you my story with Mathias?"

She had a fair point. I adjusted myself in my seat, and cleared my throat. "Since you put it that way, I'll tell you my story. Uh . . . everything starts a long time ago. I got sent to juvenile prison and then joined the Colonial Marines because of the Weyland-Yutani program and whatnot. It's been a bit of a rough ride; I have a hard time dealing with guilt and shame. I've been blaming myself for a lot of things that've happened that aren't my fault. I'm afraid of failing this second chance, and that's been bothering me ever since my squad went on a mission to LV-400. Everything got worse when I was poisoned by silver flowers. I've been having nightmares and recently, a squadmate was poisoned, and . . . I feel like it's my fault."

Miranda tilted her head a little. "What'd you say your name was?"

"Drake. Mark Drake."

"I'm sorry to hear all that, Drake . . . wait, do you prefer being called 'Drake' because you're in the Marines, or would you rather be called 'Mark'-"

"I really don't care."

"OK, OK." Miranda's cheeks slightly reddened. "Look, I . . . I don't know what I'm going to do about Mathias. Do you know where he is?"

"The hotel's guards took him around three or four in the morning. All I saw was him being placed in an armored vehicle of some sort. Other than that, I have no idea where he is."

Miranda's face paled as she rubbed it, sighing. "He has a chip in him. They'll probably call the university. They'll need to ask for my permission before . . . before destroying him."

"Jesus, I don't think he should be destroyed. Maybe a memory wipe, or-"

"No. He'll snap out of it once he sees me. All I have to do is talk to him, convince him th-that I'm going to make him better." Her lower lip quivered, and she covered her face with both hands. "Unless he really thinks that I've ditched him for good."

I shrugged. "I can't help you there. Wish I could, though."

Glancing at a clock, Miranda stood up, grabbing a jacket laying on her bed. "I have to get going. Could you . . . let me know if you find anything regarding where Mathias is?"

"I don't know how to reach you."

"Well, you know where my room is. That's good enough."

"Where are you going to be during the day?"

"Conference room D. After eleven, I'm going to be in Chinatown." She opened the door, gesturing for me to leave first.

"Got it," I said as I left the room. "I'll see what I can do."

Miranda didn't say anything more as she watched me walk away. She closed her door, and we found we were going in the same direction. I pretended to ignore her as I stepped in a waiting elevator, pressing the lobby button, leaning against the wall as Miranda stepped in as well. She definitely seemed mildly annoyed by me, and why not? I kinda did barge into her room and demanded to know about what Mathias said to me.

The elevator stopped so more people could get on. Miranda was pushed closer to me. I moved closer to the corner, my mind starting to dig around itself, uncovering the horrid thoughts and memories I was having earlier. The claustrophobia of the elevator was making it difficult to breathe, but I tried to keep a straight face. No one in here was to know that I was in pain.

I suffered in complete silence for the ride down to the lobby. I felt like a band was being tightened around my ribcage, but I kept my head down, trying to push myself through it. _It's all in your head. You're not actually suffocating. You'll be OK. Stop thinking so hard. Don't let this control you._

The doors opened, and the people walked out, all going in their separate directions. Miranda glanced at me, and then started jogging away. God only knows what she saw when she looked at me. Did I successfully hide that I was suffering, or was it out there in plain sight? I don't think I'll ever find out. Given what I know, I don't think Miranda wants to see me again. I don't think she wants to see Mathias again. I think she's like me in the fact that she wants to keep running away from her problems, only to have them catch up to her and swallow her whole, making it more and more difficult to deal with them properly before they take such a toll on her mind that her condition will have a name.

* * *

As I ate a light breakfast in the lobby, I started to think that I shouldn't have left Aran alone in our room. I mean, he probably wasn't scared, but he was likely wondering where I was, and I felt bad that I didn't tell him what I was doing. After all, I had left because I was in a bad mood, and I just wanted to be alone.

I figured I should go back upstairs and get Aran, but I was actually enjoying my time alone.

Even though I didn't have much time alone.

I was about to finish my second cup of coffee for the day when I heard someone say, "Just the man I was looking for!" and Doctor Hornby briskly walked over to sit across from me. "Good morning, Drake. I see you're looking far healthier than when I last saw you."

My stomach turned awkwardly. "I . . . Yeah, I feel a lot better, too."

"I didn't expect to see you here. Was your unit transferred?"

"N-No. Since I can't go in hypersleep, I've been doing little things for Delhoun, and he thought sending me somewhere for a small vacation would be good for me."

"Well, it's a good thing you're following my advice. Speaking of that, I think you'd appreciate some news on Hudson."

"Is it good or bad?"

"Both. The good news is, he's no longer in life support and we're starting physical therapy. The bad news is, he won't be returning to his unit for another month or so."

"And why is that?"

Hornby adjusted himself in his seat. "It's a precaution. One of the nurses turned the air conditioner on in that room for the last day or so, and I'm worried toxic discharge may've set in for Hudson. It's nothing major."

I sighed, still feeling like something was wrong. "What's the physical therapy going to be like?"

"A lot of it is breathing exercises to strengthen his respiratory system. Much of it is experimental, considering this isn't something that's been done before."

"When can I see him?"

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because we're trying to . . . provide as minimal distraction as possible. Focus on recovery."

I bit my lip, struggling to keep from calling bullshit. "Fine," I replied. "Let me know when it's OK to see him."

"I certainly will." Hornby stood up, leaving the breakfast bar rather quickly.

I had a really bad feeling in my gut about all this. One way or another, I was going to see Hudson, and I didn't need Hornby's permission to do that.

* * *

 _Author's Note: I'm pretty glad I focused this chapter more on the plot of this one story rather than the overarching plot of Drake's struggle with guilt, shame, and now the possibility of post-traumatic stress disorder. Although that is still prominent here, it's not overshadowing the Hudson plot or the Mathias subplot.  
_

 _I do have one question for the readers who have been following this series: if you've re-watched "Aliens" while reading these stories, have you thought differently about the characters? It's interesting if you do, but I certainly don't think any of this would be considered canon. Don't feel obliged to answer . . . huh, should I start doing "Question of the Chapter" or something like that? Or is that too distracting and stupid? I can't interact with guest comments, so I'm trying to think of ways I can talk more with you as a thank-you for the comments and enjoyment of this series._


	8. Chapter 8

I was going to make good on my word to Miranda about finding information on Mathias's whereabouts, but, I did say before that I'm not a spy. Spies are quiet, well-composed, good at stealth, and when they have to kill, they do it in a way so that by the time the body's found, they're long gone and no one'll suspect them. Marines are the opposite; we're loud, some of us aren't well-composed (ahem, hi), we generally don't do stealth unless it's necessary, and when we have to kill, we make sure everyone and their pets know about it.

I'd make a shitty spy, too. I'd break my cover before the mission even starts. God, I can see the humiliation now. I wouldn't even be killed; I'd be laughed at for the rest of my life. Hell, I don't even think you can become a spy if you have post-traumatic stress.

Still, I probably didn't have to be a spy to find out where Mathias was. I just had to find someone who was willing to talk.

As I entered the underground mall of Crystal City, I spotted McKay standing in line outside a café. Not wanting him to see me, I tucked my dogtags in my shirt and grabbed a baseball hat from a mannequin. No one would notice, right? I calmly walked past the line, every nerve standing on end. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when I heard, "Hey, Drake!"

I had two cups of coffee that morning, but I was still too tired to be mad. Breathing a sigh of annoyance rather than relief, I took the cap off. See? I'm a shitty spy.

McKay was staring at me from the line. "Nice hat. Didn't know you were into sports."

I put the cap back, crookedly, on the mannequin. "I was just . . . trying it on. You know, it's sunny out," I mumbled.

"Did you have breakfast? I'll get you something if you want."

"I had breakfast." Thinking fast, I said, "Hey, you're next in line, McKay."

Of course, the fool turns around to see. I sprinted away before he could realize he was far from being next in line. Even Aran wouldn't have fallen for that one!

When I reached the Metro platform, I glanced behind me to make sure McKay didn't get any bright ideas and started following me. He didn't, and I finally breathed that sigh of relief.

I got on board the train to the Pentagon, hoping I'd find someone who knew where Mathias was. This probably wasn't going to be easy, but at least Mathias wasn't top-secret company property.

* * *

We were about halfway to the Pentagon when the train stopped in the middle of a tunnel. A few people started to panic, and then one of the doors between the cars opened. Three guys and a girl walked in. One of the guys and the girl were carrying pulse rifles and wearing Marine gear, and the two other guys were wearing laboratory uniforms. They started ushering people off into the other train cars, but preventing me from moving.

"Private Drake," one of the guys, a short man with dark hair, gestured for me to stay in my seat. "You're under arrest."

"For what?" I asked, my heart thumping harder.

"For interfering with a Weyland-Yutani scientist's property and experiments. Now, no more questions from you-" The man took a blindfold from his back pocket, wrapping it around my head. "Sedative," he said. A needle was slowly driven into my left arm, and I immediately relaxed. I didn't fall asleep, but I sure felt like I would.

I remember the train was moving, but I was relaxed to the point where I didn't feel like talking. I had no desire to move whatsoever. The train stopped, and the guy and girl with the pulse rifles made me stand up to lead me off. The slightest movement made the contents of my stomach churn, but I wasn't on the verge of throwing up. I still didn't want to talk or move on my own.

The change in temperature told me we were outside, but then we were in a vehicle. Then we were outside again, and we were in a building a minute later. I was made to sit down, and then the blindfold was removed. We were in an old warehouse, with windows that were way up beyond eye level. There was nothing inside, other than floating dust particles and a covered box.

I was still loopy from the sedative. Everything was blurry and spinning a little. The people who took me off the train were standing around me, and one of them said, "He should come out of it in a few minutes or so. I didn't give him a full dose."

When I did come out of my heavily relaxed state, it wasn't without consequence. Involuntarily, I leaned forward, finding I had been tied to a chair. That didn't stop my stomach from giving a hard lurch before I vomited on the floor.

"Drake," the dark-haired man said, "our basic instruction is this; we don't want to have either the company or the USCM getting angry over all this. No one wants to do the paperwork or go through the trouble of sending you off to an orbital or planetary station for sentencing. For that, we are leaving you here for the next twenty-four hours. No food, no water, and no sleep. It's a short punishment, a lesson for you." He shook his finger in my face. "If you try to see Private Hudson again, there will be harsher consequences than this one. Corporals Adden and Dunewall will be monitoring you." The dark-haired man and his companion left, and the two soldiers took their places in the far corners of the warehouse.

* * *

I figured the best thing to do was stay quiet and not make this harder than it already was. My best guess was that Hornby became suspicious and wanted me out of the picture before I could see what he was really doing with Hudson.

This wasn't going to do it. I've been through worse than this. Hunger, thirst, and sleep deprivation are nothing compared to what my own brain is putting me through.

Right?

The longer I sat, the more I realized how little I was caring for myself physically. The only liquid I had that day was coffee, and the only food I had was a slice of toast and a single fried egg, all of which I had thrown up not too long ago. I thought back to the early days of being with my unit, and how Apone would get on us about keeping ourselves healthy. I think I remember writing that a few entries back, but I didn't go into detail.

When Vasquez and I were sent to boot camp, neither of us were in the greatest of shape. We were both thin from our time in prison, but I was worse off than she was because I was bottling up my frustration. I had developed a habit of eating the bare minimum of what was required because I frequently had no appetite, and the instructors got on me about building muscle mass. I remember one of the drill instructors got ahold of my papers from prison and decided to have personalized exercise sessions with me in an attempt to get me more comfortable and less anxious because of the serious change that just occurred in my life. While I did gain some muscle mass and became slightly more comfortable, nothing changed regarding my frustration. The instructor thought I had become used to eating little and not moving a lot for long periods of time. That wasn't the case, but it wasn't his fault he thought that; it was my fault that I didn't tell him the truth.

I hoped the incessant harping would end when we got transferred to our current unit, but Apone would attempt to reinforce the training we got with weekly meetings about nutrition and exercise. Again, I'd get called out for not doing what I was supposed to be doing, and my frustration, guilt, and shame got worse with time. I hated worrying about mundane things like eating right, and there were times where my anger was so bad that I just couldn't eat at all. It would make me feel as though I didn't deserve it because of every single stupid mistake I made in the past. Admittedly, the meetings were more fun than the ones at boot camp because of Hudson, but, still. I wasn't the only one mildly annoyed; Hicks was as well, but that was because he was annoyed with me not following the rules. He'd go up to me and ask if something was wrong, and I always said "no," because I didn't trust him yet.

I'd grow to trust people, but I found it hard in the beginning. So hard that it's effecting relationships to this day. I wondered if things would be different if I opened up about how I felt with more people.

Frankly, I found it difficult to stop thinking about those training sessions, because I was failing the guidelines they set by doing nothing.

* * *

Only an hour went by. Adden and Dunewall paced slowly, keeping an eye on me the whole time. I found out Adden was the girl, and she took herself and her job seriously. She'd get really close to me occasionally, looking me over to make sure I wasn't dozing off. I would glance at her, and she'd give me a dirty look. The fact that we were both Marines meant nothing to her; she would tease me with her rations and water canteen, trying to make me crack under pressure. I'm not entirely sure why. Part of me thinks she doesn't want to do poorly or look like she has sympathy, so inflicting any kind of suffering was the way to go.

"Don't do that," Dunewall said, walking over to us. He stood next to the chair, giving Adden a look that said he'd do something if she kept bothering me. "This is bad enough."

"What? I can't have fun with him in this hellhole?" Adden replied.

"No. Leave him alone. I'll watch him." Dunewall's eyes followed Adden as she walked back to one of the corners of the warehouse, and then he looked down at me. "Are you the same Drake that McKay talks about?"

 _Oh, dear God._ "Yes."

"Ah. He's been speaking very highly of you even though you got into a fight at the bar a few days ago."

"Yeah, we made up. Now he's insistent on talking to me every single time he sees me. It's a little . . . annoying, I guess."

"It can be, but he's good at what he does. You've got some good people in your squad, too. I remember meeting some of you in Australia. Hudson's the one in the hospital, right?"

I nodded.

"Damn shame. He was a pretty likable guy. Funny, too. What happened?"

"He stumbled upon an abandoned building in Brisbane holding silver flowers. They're plants that release a hallucinogenic toxin that closes your airways."

"Is he gonna be OK?"

"Should be. I had the same thing a month ago, but there were a lot of screw-ups, which is why I'm still recovering, kinda. Apparently, you can't go into hypersleep while recovering because the toxin will liquefy, and then your body tries to force it out, which leads to a high fever and all that fun crap." I really regretted reading all those papers Hornby gave me, because now I sound like a nerd.

"So, if no one screws up, Hudson will make a full recovery?"

"Yeah. He won't be able to do anything, though, until he's cleared."

"That definitely sucks." Dunewall stood up. "I wish I could help you in some way."

"Don't," I said. "I'll be alright."

* * *

Eight hours passed. By then, I was pretty sure Aran was worried about me, and searching the entirety of D.C. for me. I felt awful, knowing that the poor guy was probably thinking I went out to hurt myself. He was probably thinking that he failed in keeping me from blaming myself for everything, and therefore was feeling like a failure.

But, knowing Aran, I don't think he would've immediately jumped to that conclusion. He was likely concerned, but not a fearful mess.

Then again, what if Aran was trying to see if I had gone to the hospital to see Hudson? What if he was regarding as a threat? What if he was experiencing the same punishment I was? I felt even worse, picturing Aran strapped to a chair that he was clearly too big for, being starved and dehydrated. I wanted to think that this was all my fault, but I knew it wasn't.

This was not my fault. I can't keep blaming myself for things I can't control.

I'm not the one threatening to take away Hornby's funding.

I'm not the one driving Hornby nuts about his research.

I'm not the one who poisoned Hudson.

I'm not the one who sent Hudson here, to be studied because of an unfortunate accident.

For a moment, I felt like I had punched a barrier in my brain. A crack began to appear, and I felt like I could breathe a little easier. The dull ache in my chest lifted somewhat, and for the first time in so long, I felt like I was beginning to free myself.

That relief sent tears to my eyes, and they dripped down my face, a sign to every outsider that some kind of struggle was going on inside me, that I was fighting myself, my own thoughts. I sighed, allowing those tears to fall. They were merely a byproduct of my internal battle. After a long streak of losing, I finally won a single battle, though I knew this war with my past and my memories was far from over.

I wondered though if it was because I had been left alone with my thoughts, and purely with my thoughts. My throat was parched, and it was hard to swallow. I wanted water. My stomach was empty, and it had given up its persistent rumbling hours ago, accepting the fact that it was getting nothing. My lungs were still getting air, and my heart was still pumping blood, but that's all involuntary. The only thing I could do was think, so I did. In doing that, I pushed myself to better control my thoughts. I made my first step in getting back up after beating myself while I was down.

It felt as though I had only lifted my head up. I was giving myself a chance to breathe, resisting the urges to call myself worthless and a failure. I wished everyone who cared about me could actually see what went on in my head, because they'd be proud.

But, all I was doing was sitting there, stuck, not doing anything except breathing. No one can see inside my head. No one knows that I'm trying to regain control of my thoughts. Would they even believe me if I said I had one small victory?

My hollow stomach sank, and with that, I kicked myself in the ribs again. More tears rolled down my face. _No, I can do this! I'm not going to put myself down again! I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty! Please allow me this chance!_ And another part of me said, _No one is going to see or believe that. You're going to emerge from here just as broken as you were when you came in. You were stupid enough to try and see Hudson. You deserve this. Hey, you've probably caused Aran a lot of pain today. How does that make you feel?_ I bit back a sob, squeezing my eyes shut. "God . . . dammit . . ." I whispered.

I suddenly received a hard slap to the face. "Don't fall asleep!" Adden yelled.

* * *

Moonlight was spilling in through the windowpanes, painting and illuminating the rusted walls, the chair, and me in a brilliant white. I had no idea what time it was, but I figured it had to be past nine or ten. Who cared, though? I don't.

I couldn't imagine what poor Aran was going through. Either he looked all day and gave up, or he's still looking. All he's done is care about me, and this is what happens. He's been trying to drill that into my head, that I have people who care, and I need to take their advice.

And then there's Delhoun. What if he tried calling again? What was he thinking at that moment?

Miranda. I went out trying to find information on Mathias for her, and I failed. I _failed_.

Mathias. Dear God, Mathias, I could only hope he was OK.

Oh, and Hudson. What in the ever-living fuck was Hornby doing to him that day?

Then my thoughts abruptly turned to Vasquez. My heart ached. I missed her so much. She wouldn't stand for this. I know she'd rather go down fighting than let me get dragged away to be deprived of my most basic needs in an empty warehouse.

We could hear traffic outside, but other than that, there was dead silence. I ended up learning that listening and feeling your own heartbeat for too long can make you anxious for some reason. I became restless, but the most I could do to move was turn my wrists and uninjured ankle. Trying to move reminded me of how dehydrated I was. It was slightly painful, and I was developing a headache, making it difficult not to think about all the discomfort I was feeling. Part of me wished I could just sleep it off, but I knew that wasn't possible here, and that everything I was feeling was only going to get worse from here.

The hours dragged as I became more and more aware of pain spreading across from my body. I wanted water more than I wanted food. I didn't even want to sleep at this point, despite being so lethargic. Adden kept coming over to me, glaring at me while making sure I wasn't falling asleep. She grabbed my head, looking in my eyes and seeing all of my pain and exhaustion. At least she probably though that it was due to my experience. I never thought I'd be grateful for a layer of actual pain to be covering up my emotional wounds.

I just wanted this to end soon. My brain and my body couldn't take this anymore. The progress I had made felt like it never happened, like the crack I made in the barriers I put up in my head had fixed itself somehow. When Adden let go of my jaw and walked away, I looked down at my lap, tears choking me once more.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Out of all the non-canon characters featured in this series, who do you find the most interesting? Delhoun? Aran? The Annexers? Who would you most like to see in an Alien movie, if that was possible?_


	9. Chapter 9

My entire head was throbbing with pain as I watched rays of sunlight peek in through the windows. I drew in a breath, unable to bear the dryness of my mouth. I couldn't seem to form any saliva, and I wondered if those particular glands had stopped working. I couldn't cry anymore, even when I desperately wanted to. I guess my body was trying to save as much fluid as it could, so it refused to allow me to cry.

At that point, I was more concerned about sleep and water than I was about food. A few minutes later, though, the breakfast hour started at the restaurants outside, and the smells of bacon and sausage and pancakes and hot maple syrup were floating in through the open windows. I felt a sudden pain, and my stomach growled angrily. A feeling of powerlessness crept over me, even though I knew that the twenty-four hours had to be up soon.

I just didn't know how long "soon" was.

Hours passed, and I was trying to remember what time the day before I had been taken off the Metro. It was past nine or ten, I think. God, I don't remember. Does it even matter anymore?

The warehouse's main doors flew open, and the dark-haired man from the day before yelled, "Alright, untie him!"

Dunewall walked over to the chair, removing the straps holding me to the chair. He helped me stand up, but as soon as I was up, I collapsed.

The dark-haired man strolled over, hands behind his back. "I can't imagine how horrible this experience was for you, Drake."

I couldn't spit, so I hissed at him.

"If you don't want to go through this for forty-eight hours instead, you will never set foot in that hospital until you receive the proper authorization. Hornby is a busy man, and his research is vital so we can prevent incidents similar to those you and Hudson suffered." The man looked at Dunewall. "Escort Drake back to his hotel."

Nodding, Dunewall helped me up again, putting my right arm around his shoulders. My limbs were weak, and my body felt like a dry, empty husk. Adden was watching us by the doors, and I could've sworn I saw her give me a slightly sympathetic glance.

As we left the warehouse, I grimaced as soon as I was bathed in natural light. Dunewall paused by a vending machine next to a stairway leading down to the Metro, and got me a fresh, cold electrolyte drink. I don't think I've ever felt so relieved before after I used my last piece of strength to open that bottle. I didn't even pause to breathe as I gulped it down, cherishing the coldness that swiftly seeped throughout my body. When I took the bottle from my mouth, I felt human again, but the memories of the night and day before were still raw in my mind.

Dunewall didn't say much as we walked down to the Metro platform. He helped me stay standing, and occasionally asked if I was OK. I never gave an answer, because my brain wasn't processing things very well. Almost as soon as we sat down on our train to Crystal City, I rested my head against the window and dozed off, only to be shaken awake when we arrived at the mall.

"Will you be OK from here to your room?" Dunewall asked after we stepped onto the platform.

"I . . . think so, yeah," I replied, my voice cracking after not using it very much for a whole day.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded.

Dunewall gave me a weak smile. "Look, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I won't tell McKay about this."

"I really don't care if you tell him or not," I said. "Don't feel bad. You're just doing what you're told. I'll be alright."

We ended up shaking hands before going our separate ways. I personally liked Dunewall; in a way, he reminded me of Hicks, and he seemed well-disciplined and conscious of how people around him were feeling. Hell, if he didn't step in, Adden probably would've hurt me. He exerted control in a way that let people know he was in charge without saying it directly.

As I made my way to the hotel lobby, I spotted a familiar figure standing at a clothes rack outside a shop. Miranda Harrison was absentmindedly browsing through summer shirts. Her purse was hanging open, and a file likely containing documents from her conference was jutting out awkwardly, like it didn't belong there.

I still felt like an absolute failure for not getting information on Mathias, but something was still compelling me to go over and tell her what happened. That was better than covering it up and lying, right?

Before I could say anything, Miranda took a shirt from the rack and held it to her body. "Mark, you're a guy . . . would this look attractive?"

I was confused, but that was probably because the only fuel I had in me was liquid, not to mention I'm not used to be referred to by my first name. And I'm being asked by a strange girl whether or not she's attractive when I'm already in a relationship. "Um, sure. It looks OK."

Heavily sighing, Miranda put the shirt back. She looked like she was about to burst into tears.

"I came to talk to you about Mathias," I said, trying to avoid an awkward silence.

"Yeah? What did you find?"

"Nothing."

Miranda whirled around to face me. "Nothing?!"

"Nothing. Let me explain . . . yesterday, I was trying to find someone who might give me information on where Mathias could be and what's going on. While I was on the Metro, four people came in, moved everyone else off, and told me I was under arrest."

"What for?"

"For trying to see a comrade in the hospital. He was poisoned by silver flowers a few days ago-"

"No, no, no, no, not here! Not here!" Miranda grabbed my arm, dragging me to a corridor devoid of people. "You said silver flowers?" she whispered.

I nodded.

"That's what our conference has been about! Some guy called Hornby has been submitting research and he's trying to convince Doctor Madell that we should incorporate these flowers into our curriculum! W-What's your comrade's name?"

"Hudson. Private William Hudson."

"Oh my God . . ." Miranda put her hands to her face. "They've been doing a lot of psychological experiments on him. That's probably why they don't want you interfering. Mark, I'm so sorry-" She glanced to her right, seeing someone in a Weyland-Yutani lab uniform walking toward us. It was unlikely they were looking for anything suspicious, but Miranda abruptly grabbed me and kissed me.

I was undoubtedly stunned, but somehow I knew she was trying to make us look like we were just a couple of dumbasses sharing a moment so no one looked at us funny. At the same time, her behavior from earlier suggested she was having a rough time that day, and could use some form of relief. Plus, she did have a little over twenty-four hours to think about me. I guess I could forgive her for developing a crush on me, if that was the case, and I felt bad that I was gonna have to break her heart, because my heart belonged to somebody else. Besides, can you imagine if Vasquez found out someone was trying to win me over? That wouldn't be very pretty.

The man in the uniform passed by us, and Miranda let go of me. Her face was deep red from embarrassment, and wetness rimmed her eyes. She looked panicked, afraid of what I might be thinking, but I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was here on a mission and had no time for something as petty as this. My mind was still in a hundred different places, and it seemed to be fighting with the present demands of my body. I knew I needed to get food in me soon, and I needed to sleep soon. I knew it was all necessary, but I felt locked here, like I couldn't do anything important until the air between me and Miranda was cleared.

"So, was that just to make sure the guy walking by didn't think we were suspicious, or is there something else going on?" I asked.

"Your first answer," Miranda replied. "That . . . probably wasn't the right thing to do, and . . . I'm so, so sorry. It was . . . I've been . . . very . . ."

"Stressed? I can see that." I folded my arms over my chest. "Look, the guy's gone. As I was saying, because Doctor Hornby doesn't want me interfering with his experiments, I got arrested. I was sedated and locked in an empty warehouse for twenty-four hours. Tied to a chair and not allowed to eat, drink, or even sleep. That's why I've got nothing on Mathias."

Miranda sighed. "Well, I appreciate you being honest. I mean, I know that Mathias went berserk and tried to choke you, but I think I should handle this. You've done enough. I'm sorry you had to go through . . . through all this."

"It's fine. No, really, it is. Don't be sorry. I made a promise that I'd help find Mathias, and I'm going to keep that. Right now, I'd like to eat and go back to my room to sleep. I'll find you when I get some information." I turned around, heading in the direction of the hotel lobby.

"Mark, wait!"

I looked over my shoulder, giving Miranda a confused look. "What?"

"Would you be upset if I offered to buy you breakfast?"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't mind. Why're you offering in the first place?"

"Just . . . as a thank-you for all you're doing." Her voice trailed off, like she wanted to add something to that sentence.

"I don't need any thank-yous."

"Please, Mark, take it."

I sighed. "Oh, all-fucking-right, if it makes you feel better."

A weak smile crossed over Miranda's face. It did nothing to cover up the fact that she was incredibly anxious and upset over something. After all, I was still partly a stranger to her, but she was trying to act like I was a friend that had known her for some time. As I stood in line to get my breakfast at a café near the Metro stairway, I thought back to the conversation I had with Miranda the day before. She mentioned that Mathias made it difficult for her to have people over at her campus apartment, and I clearly remember her saying that she had a boyfriend, referring to him as an ex. I was guessing that she had slowly lost contact with people since abandoning Mathias, and was desperate to regain that.

Then again, it was only a guess. I didn't want to bring it up.

I sat down across from Miranda, by a window. She seemed to have calmed down a little, but was staring at the Styrofoam cup of coffee and a plastic cup of yogurt with granola in front of her, stirring it slowly with a spoon. The file of documents was on the table. Every paper was folded or crinkled in some way, and on the file itself were the words, " _Complete by six tonight!_ " in red ink.

"Did Mathias ever help you with assignments?" I asked.

"When he . . . felt OK, he did. I still don't know if that's legal or not, but he would . . . he would try to help. Help's a broad term, though; even just getting a cup of tea or something small for dinner counted as help. I even trusted him with grocery shopping sometimes." Miranda pushed the yogurt away. "Look, I know you're probably starving. You can have that."

I shook my head. "I'm good with what I have."

"Fine. Yes, I'd get help from Mathias. Sometimes. It was rare. Most of the time, he prevented me from getting work done because he was crying all the time, and then I'd have to sit with him for an hour." Miranda shrugged before slapping the table. "I just-I just don't get any kind of time for myself. None! None, whatsoever. I hate this college. I hate my job. I hate the fact that I still have over a year before I can get my fucking degree and leave Doctor Madell and her stupid guinea pig projects. I hate the fact that I've drifted apart from my friends in high school and can't keep any friends in college. I've been dumped by two guys; one because of Mathias, and the other because I couldn't find time to spend with him."

"I can understand. I've been having a hard time with friends as well. A lot of it stems from the fact that I bottle up my frustration, and . . . it sounds like you're doing the same thing."

"What?"

"Bottling up your emotions."

"Oh, I know. What am I supposed to do about it, Mark? Do I look like I have the time to go in my room and cry or see a counselor or something?"

"Well, you're sitting here talking to me. That's better than nothing. Do you think that I'm not listening? Believe me, I'm listening, and I feel bad. I know how it feels to be under the impression that no one is listening. The truth is, there are people who listen. It's difficult to pull that veil off your mind, but, understand that it's true. I've got people who listen to me, and I still struggle with feeling like I'm successfully communicating my emotions. Trust me, it's easier said than done. I'm only saying that because it's something that I need to learn as well. I'm not trying to make myself look better or look like I'm control, because I'm not. I feel like shit, too."

Miranda's eyes were glinting with tears. She looked down at the table before glancing at me. "So, you're listening? This whole time, including yesterday, you've been listening?"

I nodded.

She smiled again, with tears rolling down both cheeks. "I don't know what to say. Dear God, and we just met, too. You . . . I'm sorry." She rubbed her face. "Look, if you want to keep searching for Mathias, that's fine. I don't know how to feel about . . . whether or not I should take him back in."

"I think you should take him back in," I replied. "Admit it; you feel guilty about abandoning him, right?"

"In a way-"

"You don't want to see him get destroyed, do you? I can't take him in. My squad's already got an android, and we all appreciate the fact that he doesn't throw up every few minutes."

"Let me think about it, Mark. Don't force me into making a decision. Listen-" Miranda leaned in to whisper to me, "Tomorrow, the students from the university are going down to the hospital to see Hornby's research. How about we meet up for dinner and I'll tell you about what I see?"

"You do that and I get information on Mathias?"

"Sure, whatever you want."

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow." I picked up the remainders of my breakfast and was about to stand up when Miranda took my wrist.

"Mark?" she said softly. "I'm sorry I kissed you. It . . . was very wrong, and I sh-should've thought the situation better, and I didn't, so I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," I replied. "Shocked, but not mad." I gave her a wide smirk, and I was about to say something regarding how Vasquez wouldn't find out, but I decided to have a little bit of fun with Miranda before telling her the truth. "It wasn't a bad kiss. At least you had experience with two other people beforehand."

Miranda watched me leave while her face gradually got redder.

* * *

I took care of my dehydration and my starvation. Now, all I needed to do was sleep. As I headed up to my room, I wondered if Aran was going to be there, and I was prepared to explain everything to him.

In the elevator, I felt my brain crash. I went from being very social to curling up in a ball inside my head. I went from trying to help someone to focusing on my pain, physical and mental. Every single painful thought came down on me like a bag of bricks.

The ride up to my floor was taking forever. I wanted to bang my head against the wall and cry at the same time. The things that change once you're alone. It fucking sucks. I wished I could still contemplate Aran and Mathias and Hudson and Miranda and Vasquez and my squadron, but, here I was, thinking about how much I was hurting and needing sleep. _You're very selfish, Drake,_ that annoying voice in my head said. _Thinking about your own pain when you've caused pain to so many other people. Grow yourself a heart, damn you._

There was a _ding_ , and the elevator doors opened. A dull ache started in my chest as I walked out, and I let my exhaustion control me. When I found my room, I slid the key into the door, and then pushed it open.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, I was suddenly grabbed into a bear-hug by Aran. He squeezed me tightly, pressing my head against his shoulder.

"OK," I grunted, "Aran, I can't breathe. Loosen your . . . grip a little." I took a deep breath when he loosened his grip on me. "I'm glad to see you, too, buddy. Now, I'm alright. I'm very tired, and I'd like to go to bed. Is that OK? Or do you want me to tell you everything that happened first?"

Aran let go of me, and gestured for me to go sit on my bed. Once I did, he sat on his bed, looking at me and appearing as though he was going to listen attentively.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: What do you think would happen if the roles were reversed: Hudson was in Drake's position and vice versa?_

 _Author's Note: Well, I'm glad that the idea of "Question of the Chapter" received a positive response. I'm also glad that it hasn't taken away from the content of the story itself, and that makes this experience even better.  
_

 _Over the last few days, though, I've been trying to work harder on this because I now have more time. I don't like forcing myself to write, sometimes, because then the end result isn't as good, but I've found it's been loosening the blockages in my brain. Recently, I came across a tip video that suggested one way to deal with writer's block is to "write garbage," and I did. I wrote until I felt like I had a better idea, and then deleted the crap to polish everything. The only "crap" that I left in was Miranda's dialogue; her nervousness and panic needed to be evident both in her actions and the way she spoke, so much of what she said is awkward and doesn't read very correctly. That's pretty much the only time the rules of grammar should be broken, because in real life, people don't all talk the same. It also makes the writing more interesting._


	10. Chapter 10

Aran didn't move an inch as I told him about everything that happened yesterday, and this morning. When I finished, he told me via his notebook that he did spend the majority of the day looking for me, and in the process, he unwittingly found out where Mathias was.

While searching for me in a shopping district near Rosslyn, Aran came across an android service station. It is illegal to get a medical dummy android repaired without the consent of the owner, but because Mathias was considered "at risk," that part of the law was overridden. Aran was curious to see if I was in there, considering I told him how much this situation bothered me. He didn't find me, but he did find Mathias.

Civilian-run android service stations aren't as high-tech as stations run by Weyland-Yutani or the USCM. They look a lot like auto mechanic shops, but instead of the workers being covered in black grease or oil, they're covered in white fluid. Their prices for repairs are a lot lower, but one disadvantage is that they take a long time to get information on new models, so most generally work with older androids. You will never find these stations outside of major cities; my squad learned that the hard way when we were stationed on the Indian side of Kashmir, and a power outage resulted in Bishop's innards getting damaged from the cold. Instead of finishing our cold-weather training, we put it to the test by splitting into small groups and searching for some kind of repair station. Needless to say, we didn't find one, and waited about a week before we were evacuated. That was one experience (next to starving in a warehouse) that I'm not forgetting.

Anyway, Aran didn't actually go in the service station . . . because, again, he's afraid of androids. When he brought that up, I wanted to punch him, but I also told myself that I can't force him to do something that makes him uncomfortable. I mean, he did something, so I have to give him some kind of credit.

But I still wanted to punch him when he didn't remember the name of the service station.

* * *

I remember going to bed at around ten-thirty in the morning, and woke up at around five PM. Sitting up, I looked over at Aran, who was watching TV with the sound off. When he heard me grunt as I stretched, he glanced at me.

"What?" I said, yawning. "Have you been here the whole time?"

He nodded.

I looked out the window, then at the clock. "You wanna stay here or do you wanna go somewhere for dinner?"

Aran shrugged, then grabbed his notepad. " _I know you're probably starving because of yesterday, but I don't want to go anywhere."_ He looked ashamed. _"I don't feel well. That's all. I'm very tired, for some reason. It's probably a cold, or just exhaustion from being in a new place. This isn't what I usually do when I travel; I'm on the move more often. I'm rarely cooped up in a single place_."

I sighed. "Sorry. Hey, I'm not the one who suggested you come with me." I really did feel bad, but I didn't want more guilt piling on top of me. "Do you want me to stay here and keep you company?"

Aran shook his head. " _If you want to go out, you can. I won't hold you back."_

I didn't leave the bed. "No. I'll stay. I already left once. I can't do it again." Laying back down, I said, "I'm going back to sleep. Don't have any wild parties, Aran." It's not like I had to do anything from now until tomorrow night, but instead of sleeping, I've been laying on my stomach with my journals and writing down everything that's happened over the last day or so. I think Aran's asleep now, but he left the TV on by accident. He did turn the sound on at one point, and I've left it because I appreciate the background noise. I don't know what it is about silence and it driving me nuts. Some people function well in complete silence, but I don't.

Probably because my nightmares are full of silence.

* * *

Well, I wasn't wrong about my nightmares being full of silence. After I wrapped up my writing, I turned off the television and tried to sleep. Almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, I saw myself walking onto a beach. The tide was calm, and there was no wind. The palm trees were still; you couldn't hear a rustle if you tried. There wasn't even the sound of the water against the shore.

At first, I thought it was peaceful, but then my heart began racing. I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to go back to civilization.

Something wet fell on my left cheek. I thought it was rain, but when I touched my face, my fingers came away covered in a thin silver fluid. Slowly, I looked up, seeing a lifeless Hudson trapped within the branches of the trees. The silver fluid had coated every surface he was touching. Every cut was spilling silver. The lack of real blood made the exposed flesh look a sickly, pale pink color. I tried to get Hudson down from the tree by first pulling a branch out of the way. I was greeted by more silver fluid, and what appeared to be the entire skin and muscular layer completely torn from Hudson's torso. I could see the throbbing of his heart, and the sight of it was making me ill. I wanted to cover it back up, go find help, but then I heard a weak gasp.

"Drake . . . d-don't . . . d-don't bother . . ." Silver liquid poured from Hudson's mouth.

I watched as the fluid flowed like blood throughout his exposed innards. I wanted to do something, but I couldn't. What could I do? Powerlessness and failure made me feel even more sick. All I could do was watch this . . . this horrific scene play out. Was I watching him die? Or just suffer? Either way, I felt like I was being tormented with the fact that I could do nothing to help him. Nothing at all.

* * *

Aran wasn't looking all that well in the morning. I didn't want to leave him alone, but I also knew the best thing for him to do was rest. Again, I felt like it was my fault he was sick, but he himself told me that trips like this were unusual for him, and I wasn't the one who said it was a good idea to bring him along. I was also starting to feel like there was another reason why he was laid up in bed, and that reason was because I needed to complete this alone. I definitely didn't need Aran tagging along when I went out to dinner with Miranda. I needed to prove that I was growing as a person.

I did stay in the hotel room until around noon, only leaving in the morning to get something for breakfast and some over-the-counter medicine for Aran. At first, I said that medicine for humans isn't going to work on an Engineer, but Aran said that he had taken human drugs before; they worked, but the dosage needed to be adjusted. I took his word for it.

Shortly after twelve-thirty, I told Aran where I was going and why. He didn't insist on coming along, even though he was feeling a little better, but he did say that I should "look nice," because that's what you do when you go to dinner with a girl.

Aran knows about Vasquez. I'm still not sure why he said that, but I think it's because Miranda doesn't know, and I should keep up the "single" façade in order to get as much help from her as possible. I know it's wrong, it's dishonest, and it's bordering on heartless, but if I can get to a point where I can help Hudson, I'll do anything. That nightmare I had was pushing me to my limit of how long I can wait for Hudson to be released.

I had a few hours, so I went down to the mall to look for clothing that was nice, but wasn't going to wreck our budget. It was at that point that I realized I've basically been wearing the same thing for the last several years. I felt like that symbolized how little things have changed for me, how I feel stuck.

Jesus, who knew shopping for clothes could become so depressing.

I stood in a changing room wearing a pale-blue polo shirt, staring at myself in a mirror. Without my cap, I looked . . . very human. Very normal. Would I be dressing like this regularly if I didn't get in trouble so long ago? Sighing heavily, I took the shirt off, and tried on a black shirt. I smirked a little when I remembered hearing somewhere that dark colors make you look thinner. I honestly don't need to look thinner, although I don't know what Miranda would prefer I look like. It probably doesn't matter, because she seemed to like me the way I was. Again, though, I need to be the best I can be if I'm going to get assistance with Hudson.

Maybe I am slowly turning into some sort of spy. Self-made, that is.

I left the store with a gray polo shirt and black cargo shorts. I still had a lot of time before dinner, so I wandered the underground of Crystal City. The deeper you went, the more you realized that a person could actually live down here and never set foot outside. I was impressed by how much was down there. There's even a library.

When I passed the library, though, I spotted a man in a lab coat talking to the guy that had walked by me and Miranda yesterday. Out of curiosity, I paused by a pet shop, pretending to by amazed by the baby bunnies while listening to the conversation between the two men.

". . . No, no one has to worry about Drake. He got a warning a few days ago. Given his reaction upon release, I don't think he'll get near the hospital again," the man in the lab coat said.

"Why is Hornby so concerned with a lowly Marine private anyway?" the other man replied.

"Because Drake was exposed to the silver flower toxin last month. He knows what it's like. He remembers that pain and probably doesn't want Hudson to experience it. Not to mention, Hornby said that it appears as though Drake might be aware of what's going on with Hudson."

"Oh, dear God, he has no reason to be so secretive about this. He ran some tests. He has a good enough paper to submit to Burke-"

"Hornby's mission is to convince Weyland-Yutani that the silver flower is more effective than you-know-what. That's not an easy thing to do. Frankly . . . I'd rather see them use the flower. It's a damn flower, after all. It doesn't require humans to keep its species going."

"I don't think getting that batty old woman from the university is going to help him."

"Doctor Madell is highly respected. She's implemented a number of successful programs at her college. If Hornby's plan works with her, that'll surely convince the company higher-ups. I've got to go catch the train to Arlington. We can talk more tomorrow."

When the guy in the lab coat left, I ducked into the pet store. I was disappointed that I learned nothing new from that conversation. Hopefully, Miranda will provide me with more information during dinner.

* * *

I definitely felt overdressed when I saw Miranda waving to me as I rounded a corner back to the center hub of the mall. She was just wearing jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. I told myself not to care, but I also didn't want to look like a try-hard.

I half-expected Miranda to bring me to a place outside the mall, but she didn't. Instead, we went to a restaurant in the mall, which wasn't exactly fancy. It was definitely a comfort-food place. We were greeted with music and the smell of things frying and the sounds of people laughing. It was just a regular place for regular people, something I wish I was.

We sat at a booth with the bar behind us. Miranda hadn't said a word to me since seeing me, and gave me a nervous smile. "I hope this isn't . . . bad," she said.

I shook my head. "It's fine. I kinda like it, actually."

"Good. I like coming here now and then. It's such a different atmosphere compared some of the eateries around the college. It's a lot more friendly."

"Ah." I looked over my shoulder. "Would you mind if I got something from the bar?"

"Go ahead."

I stood up, turning around to face the bar. I glanced at Miranda, then looked at the guy behind the counter. After getting myself a bottle of whiskey, I again glanced at Miranda, before turning to the bartender and saying, "Can I have a small piña colada, too? Go extra light on the rum."

I carried both drinks back to the table, noting Miranda's surprise when I slid the piña colada in front of her. She looked at me, and said, "Mark, I didn't want anything."

"It's just a nice gesture," I replied. "Come on, you got me breakfast yesterday, so I figured it was my turn to do something nice for you."

Miranda thought about that for a minute, then pulled the glass closer to her. "Well . . . thank you. I appreciate it."

We read through the menus quietly, despite how badly I wanted to talk about Hudson. I didn't want to blow through the evening too quickly, and I don't think Miranda did either. She was looking at me more than she was looking at her menu, almost like she was expecting me to start a conversation.

"So . . . were you able to get some sleep yesterday? After what happened?" Miranda asked.

"Yeah, for the most part. I slept until five in the afternoon, woke up, and then went back to sleep."

"Do you feel better?"

"Kinda, yeah. I don't feel a hundred percent, but it's better than nothing." I took a sip of my drink. "How about you? How was your day?"

"Today? Today was horrible. I . . . watched a man cry and scream today."

"Hudson?"

Miranda nodded. "We took a bus to the hospital, met Doctor Hornby, and he took us up to the lab where your friend's being kept. It . . . It was pretty scary, to be honest. I've been in a lot of laboratories, but this one wasn't like any other I've seen, not to mention, they didn't have human test subjects."

A tightening sensation spread from my chest to my stomach. "What was going on?"

"Well, Hornby was in the middle of seeing what the toxin does when the air temperature is raised. Hudson was just lying on the floor, so exhausted that he couldn't move. We walk into the lab, and Hornby looked kind of embarrassed at what was going on, so he tried to get Hudson up. I mean, we're all med students, and we could tell that this poor guy was dehydrated. I wanted to say something, and the others wanted to say something, but we didn't, because we knew that this wasn't our place. Anyway, Hudson looked very much like death warmed over. I've seen Mathias in pitiful states, but none of them were like this. He looked like someone put a tube on his face and sucked out his cheeks and pushed his eyeballs deep into their sockets."

"Is Hornby starving him?"

"Yes and no. Hornby did deprive him of food for twelve hours, but then Hudson decided to call a hunger strike out of delirium from a fever."

"Is he suffering from toxic discharge?"

Miranda shook her head. "Nope."

I sighed. "So, Hornby fucking lied to me. He told me that Hudson was being kept for observation because they thought he developed toxic discharge."

"Well, if you want the full extent of what they're doing-" Miranda pulled a file from her purse, slapping it in front of me.

I almost choked on my whiskey when I read through the first document. "They induced bacterial infections? 'Tests involving UTI and sinusitis provided substantial results: subject's exposure to metallic flower resulted in lowered immune response, increased emotional outbursts. Fever was higher compared to average cases. Subject frequently complained of headache and chest pain. Unable to keep solid food down. Electrolytes needed to be replenished more often. Subject experienced insomnia, and heightened brainwave activity during REM sleep. Claimed to be having nightmares, and wanted to leave the lab.'" I rubbed my face, a heavy feeling settling in my heart. "Is there anything at all we can do to get him out of there?"

"Not really. I heard Hornby say to Madell that he will release Hudson in two days. Today was supposedly the last day for experiments, and the next two days will be used for recovery." Miranda shrugged. "That's what I heard. I don't know if it should be believed or not."

I continued to flip through the documents. "Did anyone get a chance to . . . talk to Hudson?"

"No. He was begging for help, though." Miranda sighed. "It reminded me so much of Mathias that I'm surprised I didn't leave the room in tears. Just . . . that need to feel better, feel normal was so palpable that . . . that I wish I could've done something."

"I get it," I replied. "Speaking of Mathias, I know where he is."

"Really?" Miranda's expression changed to one of shock.

"He's at an android service station in Rosslyn. Civilian, not company or military."

"Oh my God. D-Did-Did you get the name of it?"

"No. I wish I did. Hey, at least you know where it is. It's not that long of a ride on the Metro. I would just look around and go to each station until you find him." I shrugged. "That's all I got. Sorry."

"Oh, don't be sorry, Mark, that's . . . that was enough information for me. I know what to do." Miranda gave another sigh. "Let's . . . Let's talk about . . . something else."

"Alright." I set the whiskey bottle down, and made the worst possible choice for something else to talk about. "What's your honest-to-God opinion on me?"

Miranda's cheeks flushed red. "What?"

"What do you think of me? You know, as a person. I was wondering because even though you seemed annoyed by me when I wanted to talk to you about Mathias a few days ago, you were beginning to enjoy my company. Besides, what other reason would you have to buy me breakfast _and_ dinner?" I smirked.

"I think you're . . . you're . . . you . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she was looking me up and down. "I think you're . . . you're . . . handsome, I guess. Wait, did you mean, what I think of you physically, or your personality?"

"Either."

"OK, OK, well, yeah, I think you're . . . handsome. I do like that polo you're wearing. It fits your figure nicely."

"Alright. Now, what do you think of me, personality-wise?"

"I think you're decent. I'm still surprised at how . . . emotionally open you are. You seem like you know what you're doing when you talk to people. You're not very extroverted, but you're not exactly introverted, either."

"Well, the truth is that I'm not emotionally open. I think the reason you think that is because when we met, we weren't just two people passing in the street. I was actually looking for you because your damn android went bonkers. I guess it depends on the circumstances."

"Yeah. Most people take their time with getting to know someone-"

"I barged into your hotel room because I wanted information."

A weak smile crossed Miranda's face, but she wasn't making eye contact with me. She definitely seemed conflicted about this, and I felt bad considering I wasn't really replicating any of the feelings she had for me. I guess I wouldn't feel so much like a heartless bastard if she wasn't having such a tough time in her life, and I've forgotten a lot of the old tactics I used when I was known as an indiscriminate flirt in high school. Yeah, I was a totally different person, then. I wasn't "bad." I just wanted to have fun, so I would harmlessly flirt with every type of girl in my grade. You might be wondering how I changed. Well, two things: one was the fact that I got sent to prison, and the other was my earliest encounter with real, hard-hitting guilt. Flirting with "every type of girl" meant I went after the quiet and shy ones, too. They're a completely different ballgame. Words are not enough to make them look at you. If you want their attention, you have to acknowledge the fact that they're quiet and shy, because disrespecting that boundary means they'll go to great lengths to avoid you, and your game is over.

Many of them have hobbies that they care about far more than interacting with people. One of the more common ones I noticed was reading, so I would offer a comment on whatever it was they were reading. Once you do that, you're almost there. However, the thing about quiet people is that they are very, very loyal when you show them the right amount of respect and interest in their lives. Breaking up with them (especially if you're going on to flirt with a party animal), hurts. It hurts them pretty bad, and it'll hurt you, because you feel like garbage for doing that to them. I can remember at the end of my sophomore year when I ditched a shy girl in order to take advantage of juniors looking for prom dates. Needless to say, it didn't take long for me to see that I was being made out to be a horrible person by a lot of other students. Guilt set in, and I started to rethink myself, something that I'm still doing.

I'd never think that my stupidity from high school would be one of the many things effecting me to this day. Most people look back at their school days and say, "Wow, I was an idiot. I'm so glad I changed. I'm living a happy life." I, on the other hand, look back on my school days and say, "Wow, I was an idiot. I'm still an idiot. I'm not living a happy life. Every stupid thing I do is haunting me."

Alright, I shouldn't be wasting paper on how stupid I was in high school. Anyway, even though I felt bad about Miranda, I was just happy that I already had Vasquez. She'd probably understand I was doing this all for Hudson, but I know one of two things would happen. One, she'd question why I'd do such a thing to help a moron like Hudson. Two, I'd get punched in the nose, and then she'd tell me that I would have to make up an embarrassing excuse to tell the medics why my nose was broken.

I'm starting to think that it's best I don't say anything. At least I know how to wash my face to remove evidence of kissing, unlike the dumbfucks in movies.  
Overall, I felt like I actually got something done. I know what's going on with Hudson. Miranda has an idea where Mathias is. I could end the day not feeling like a failure. Honestly, I was hoping that Miranda and I could just be friends, like normal people. I can't blame her for wanting to have a relationship with someone, to have some form of comfort when you're having a tough time in your life. I can see other people being intimidated by her behavior, and misinterpreting her as being clingy and needy, when what she wants is for someone to listen. Then again, it's not other people's fault for not getting the message. _She_ has to be able to communicate that in a way that they'll understand.

I should know. I've been struggling with that for quite some time.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: How do you think things would change, if Aran had accompanied Drake, both when he was arrested in chapter 8 and during the dinner date in chapter 10?  
_

 _Author's Note: Wow, this was a long chapter. Long for me, anyway. Most chapters are anywhere between 2500-3000 words, so I'm impressed I got past 4000. I think the quality of the words has to matter more than the amount itself. I can see why people have a word-count goal, but the motivation to write and the idea has to be there before you can start counting. Hey, every person's writing style and methods are different, so, keep doing what you're doing.  
_

 _I kinda liked this chapter. It was laced with more humor compared to the others, but I'm not sure how it's going to hold up, given that most of it took place right after the documents on Hudson's condition are revealed. The parts on Drake's high school life probably could've been shorter, but I felt like there was a lot that connected to the overarching conflict. I can't say that everyone has regrets from school, but I know I do (like, maybe I should've had a social life). It helps to write from experience. Experience doesn't have to be that you went on a big adventure. It could be something as simple as doing an activity or going somewhere, and if you don't have experience, reading doesn't hurt. And, speaking of experience, the restaurant Drake and Miranda go to is based on a real place down in D.C. I've been to Washington three times, and the trip wasn't complete without going to King Street Blues for dinner at least once. It's pretty good, and I recommend it if you're ever in the Crystal City area._


	11. Chapter 11

It was past seven-thirty when we left the restaurant. I noticed a bit of a change with Miranda as we talked more, and the only thing on my mind was when I would tell her that I wasn't single. It was just so mean and heartless and I was trying not to be that.

I guess it's just impossible. We can't be nice all the time. I have a life, and I'm not having it ruined.

I mean, I'm still waiting for the right moment, so, I guess I'm not that heartless.

Although I half-expected the night to just be dinner and then we both go back to our hotel rooms, I also had a hunch that Miranda was going to want to do something else. Well, I was right; after leaving, Miranda asked if I wanted to take a walk around the city. I shrugged and said "yes."

We went up to the hotel lobby, and walked outside. I had my hands in my pockets, and was looking down. Just walking around with no real goal was so new to me. When was the last time I really got to do nothing? Actually, I should be saying, when was the last time I got to do nothing and I wasn't sick?

I could picture Apone giving me another lecture on how everyone else has been working hard and I've been doing nothing. I found myself experience a feeling worse than failure; the feeling of being useless. Mixed with that was the fact that I was still in the dark regarding whether or not I was suffering from post-traumatic stress. Maybe Delhoun would call when I got back to my room, and maybe I could get some sort of answer. If it was true, how do I keep it from everyone else? Would I have to say something? Would I still be looked down upon, or would people start to be more sympathetic?

Honestly, I didn't want people around me to change their thoughts just because I was found to have some kind of psychological problem. That doesn't excuse the fact that I've been lazy, I've been stupid, and I've been worthless. I suddenly wanted to close myself off, and disappear.

As we entered the denser parts of the city, I glanced around at the storefronts and the apartment buildings, and the people and androids going in and out of them. The smell of food was everywhere, but, for once, it wasn't distracting; I was too busy thinking about how I viewed myself, and my stomach was preoccupied with a heavy dinner. Someone on a street corner was playing music with an instrument case on the ground, hoping and waiting for people to drop money in. A group of women left a clothing store, blocking our way for a moment. They were all talking and laughing, and trailed by an android carrying their shopping bags. He looked like he was overworked, but seemed to be doing his best to put up with whatever it was he was putting up with.

Miranda glanced up at me when I hadn't said anything for awhile. "Are you OK? You're quiet."

"I'm alright," I lied. "Just . . . can't find anything to say."

"Ah. Well, that's OK. It's nice to walk and . . . not say anything and enjoy your surroundings."

"Yeah. That." I gave a false smile.

We kept walking after the sun had completely set. By then, it had been over thirty minutes since we left the Marriott, and around two hours since I joined Miranda for dinner. It felt like it had been more than that, and I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. At the moment, I was staring off into space when Miranda tapped my arm and handed me a small ice cream cone.

"You bought me a drink," she said, "I bought you dessert."

"I'm starting to think we're being too nice to each other," I replied, somewhat sarcastically. Honestly, I wasn't too upset; I haven't had ice cream in awhile, and anything is better than being tied a chair and starved for twenty-four hours.

Miranda grinned a little. "I like your sense of humor, Mark."

"Thanks. I like it, too."

* * *

Our evening together concluded at the bottom of the stairway leading to the mall. Miranda gave me a hug, a very long hug, I might add. She looked up at me before letting go. "Thanks for coming. I had a great time."

"No problem," I said. "I had a good time as well."

We stood there, moving to the side when we realized we were in the way of the people going in and out of the complex. The silence became awkward, and Miranda asked, "D-Do you mind if I . . ." while opening her arms again, "give you another hug?"

"Sure." I stayed still as she hugged me again, and glanced down at her. "Is it safe for me to guess that you'd like to do this again someday?"

"Yeah," Miranda replied. "Soon, though. I mean, I'm . . . going back to the university in a few days, and . . . and I know you're probably not going t-to be here very long."

"True. Hey, we'll see each other again. Maybe we can have breakfast or go some tourist spot or . . . just hang out somewhere tomorrow or the day after?"

Miranda nodded. "Yeah, we can do that." She hung onto me a little longer, like I was going to disappear when she let go.

"Look, I . . . I gotta get going," I said. "I'm exhausted, and I'd like to go to bed. I'm sure you got stuff to do in the morning-"

"Yeah. Don't remind me." Miranda let go, and walked alongside me as we headed back to the hotel lobby. In the elevator, we were crowded to a corner by other people. Miranda was almost pressed against me, and I smirked while putting my arm around her.

 _All in good fun,_ I thought, _Not like anyone's gonna find out or care or whatever._ As much as I wished I could be playful and flirty, I still felt haunted by guilt and stupidity. It was incredibly painful to fake all these emotions, and smiling hurt worst of all.

When we reached my floor, I may've moved too fast when I pushed my way out of the elevator, and that didn't stop Miranda from yelling, "Bye, Mark!" before the doors closed.

I stood in the hallway for far longer than I should have, feeling very alone and frustrated. Sighing, I headed back to my room, hoping to just take a hot shower and go to bed. After opening the door, I was greeted by silence and two empty beds. "Aran?" I said. Looking to my right, I saw there was no one in the bathroom. OK, so he went on a walk or something. I get it; he feels restless and doesn't want to be cooped up in here. That's fine.

What made my heart skip a few beats was the fact that his notebook was on the nightstand. That's his means of communication; there's no way he'd leave that here. Then again, he could've simply forgot it. It's not like he wouldn't find something else to write on.

It's been a little over an hour since coming back and finally laying down in bed, and still no sign of Aran. I'm trying not to jump to any conclusions. Aran's probably fine. He just needed to go outside and roam around to stop feeling stuck. He'll be back. Soon. I think.

* * *

Well, when I woke up around five in the morning, Aran still wasn't back. I have every right to be worried. After searching the room, I realized there was a message on the answering machine of the phone, and wondered how I didn't see the blinking light earlier. While putting my pants on, I pressed the button on the machine.

"Private Drake? This is Doctor Hornby. I hope you're having a restful night. Must be, considering you didn't pick up the phone. Uh, anyway, I'm calling to let you know that your Engineer friend is safe and sound with me at the hospital. Please, do us all a favor and don't stop by, because there will be consequences similar to those you experienced a few days ago. No need to worry. I can compromise. Hudson is going to be released in twelve hours, and I'll release your Engineer friend as well. Again, have a good night, Drake." The message ended.

I felt like I had been punched in the chest. "Son-of-a-bitch," I muttered, struggling to compose myself. My eyes filled with tears, and I clenched my fists. "You better not hurt Aran!" So many things were running through my head. I tried not to blame myself for this, but that was like trying to keep a wave from crashing on you by holding up your hands. I couldn't make myself move, and I sat on the bed for some time with my pants up but my fly still open. A cold, heavy ball of leaden anger and guilt was sitting in my stomach. I eventually got out of bed, zipped up my pants, grabbed a shirt and boots, and left the room.

With no way of contacting Delhoun, I was on my own. Unless, of course, I went to Miranda. I didn't want to go to Miranda, but I felt like I had no choice. While riding up the elevator to her floor, I told myself that I couldn't appear angry when she answered the door, but that felt impossible to do.

I did take a few deep breaths before knocking on the door, but any idiot could tell that did absolutely nothing. Miranda opened the door, and I said, "I'm not putting up with this anymore. First, I can't get Hudson back. Now, I get a message on the phone saying that another friend of mine is being held in that damn hospital, and-"

"Mark, slow down. What happened?" Miranda replied, taking my hand to pull me into the room.

I did my best to explain everything regarding Aran. Miranda sat and listened, but I should have known that she wouldn't be able to offer much help.

"What do you want me to do? Do you have any idea that Hornby wields a lot of power now that he has a live Engineer? I mean, sure, the company's studied dead ones, but a _live_ one? Last time a live Engineer was found, it killed members of the expedition sent to find them. Hornby can get whatever he wants now. All he has to do is negotiate with the right person for funding or resources or whatever, and simply hand over Aran. Dear God, he may even use the silver flowers to keep Aran pacified."

"So, what do we have to do get him out of there?"

"I don't think there's anything you can do."

I sighed and rubbed my face, my heart starting to ache. "This is all my fault, isn't it?"

"No. How could it be your fault?"

"I left Aran alone while he was sick."

"You didn't know this was going to happen."

"Still. This whole trip is a disaster. Nothing has gone my way. I've fucked up at every turn. All I've done is hurt people."

"You haven't-"

"Yes, I have. I . . . It's my fault Hudson got poisoned. It's my fault my entire squad is mad at me for how lazy I am. It's my fault that I got poisoned a month ago. It's my fault that I got mad at Bishop and got in trouble for it, and it's completely my fault that I got sent to prison." My face was warm, and tears were streaming down my cheeks. "It's my fault I can't . . . process emotions well. It's my fault that I can't deal with the nightmares from those damn flowers. It's my fault I can't stop blaming myself." I tried to swallow past a lump in my throat. "Everything that's happened here . . . just . . . wouldn't have happened if I wasn't around."

"Mark, don't talk like that."

I didn't say another word. I felt incredibly vulnerable. Every part of me was hurting, and dreams and memories came flooding back. I remembered Aran lifting me up to comfort me when I almost broke down in a restaurant. I remembered the dream I had where Hudson was yelling at the doctor who threw me out of the room, " _You can't do that, man! He sounded like he was hurting!_ " I thought about how I tried to fight with myself while I was trapped in that warehouse, how I thought I won, but I ended up beating myself back down.

I felt like someone was squeezing every organ in my torso. I felt like this whole trip was a way of saying that I had failed at life.

Then I thought back to the dream and Aran. Even though it was a dream, Hudson acknowledged that I was hurting. Aran didn't seem to care that we were in public; he knew I was upset and tried to help in the simplest way possible. He wouldn't want me to quit. Not now, not ever.

"Mark?" Miranda was holding a tissue, trying to wipe away the tears from my face. "Are you OK?"

I took a breath, trying to mentally get back up. Like in the warehouse, I felt like I had just lifted my head a little, looking at the part of me that kept beating me back down. There was no good side or bad side. It was simply me, standing in my own way, like a reflection in a mirror. I felt bad for him, because he was the part of me struggling with my past. He was the one feeling guilty all the time, but he had to stop dragging down the part of me trying to make up for my past sins.

For once, he backed down, glaring at me with his fists clenched. Each time I made effort, he kept backing away, but when I was in a sitting position, he moved a little closer, threatening me. I glared back, as if to say, "I'm not letting you kick me down anymore."

Coming back to reality, I replied to Miranda, "I'm OK. Needed a good cry, that's all."

"You don't want to hurt yourself?"

"No, of course I don't wanna fucking hurt myself."

"Are you sure? I'm not leaving you alone until you're absolutely sure."

"I'm sure." Considering my words weren't convincing enough, I reached over to move Miranda's hair out of her eyes, and grinned when that made her blush. "Do you believe me now?"

"No."

I leaned in closer. "How about now?"

Miranda smirked. "Charming looks aren't going to make me say 'yes.'"

I moved closer until our noses were touching. I noticed Miranda's breath quickened, and we both jumped when someone knocked on the door.

"Miss Harrison? You were supposed to be down in the lobby ten minutes ago," an older woman's voice said.

"I slept in!" Miranda replied. "I'm still getting dressed!" She looked at me, whispering, "That's Doctor Madell. Get in the bathroom and hide."

I didn't say anything as I crept over to the bathroom, slowly and quietly closing the door behind me. I sat on the floor, hearing Miranda quickly get dressed before rushing over to the room door.

"Good morning, Doctor," she said. "I'm s-sorry if I look . . . like a mess-"

"That's none of my concern, Miss Harrison. You should've been up and downstairs a long time ago, which would've been made easier if you weren't out so late last night," Madell replied.

"I wasn't . . . out late."

"Really? I saw you dressed for a casual night out while heading back up to my room. Tell me, are you seeing someone?"

"N-No."

"Just out on your own?"

"Y-Yes."

"Oh. My apologies, then. I was going to give you some advice on how to keep a man with you, given your unfortunate situation regarding relationships." Madell gave a small laugh. "Yes, I was once a young lady as yourself. Anyway, today's conference is going to be rather short. Hornby's gathered enough research to submit to that young skunk Burke. He'll be handing out copies after the lunch hour. I have to ask, what do you think about the silver flower being potentially added to the curriculum?"

I had an urge to sneeze, and was trying to stop it by clamping down on my nose and mouth with both hands.

Miranda was saying, "I think it's important we know how to treat silver flower poisoning. It's horrible! Look at what it did to that poor man in the lab!"

"I know, dear, he was in terrible shape. Hopefully, Hornby wasn't lying when he said that today would spent on recovery. Speaking of recovery, I got a phone call about your old android, Mathias, last night. A gentleman at a repair station in Rosslyn said that the police brought him in after he attacked someone here, at the Marriott. I know you put in a request for a new android, but . . . if you'd like a second chance with Mathias, that can be arranged."

Miranda sighed. "Yes, I would like a second chance with Mathias. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and . . . what I did to him was wrong. He deserves an apology."

"We all make mistakes in life. The important thing is to learn from them. Now, let's head on downstairs."

"Hold on. Let me get my purse together. I'll meet you down there."

I heard the door close, but I still wasn't ready to sneeze. Actually, I was beyond ready, but I was struggling to hold it in. For moment, I wondered if every blood vessel in my face was going to burst.

Miranda opened the bathroom door. "Mark, you're clear."

I let go of my face, and sneezed.

"Bless you! Are you OK?"

"I am now. Jesus, that woman's chatty," I said, grabbing a tissue from a box on the sink.

"I know, right? She's a decent person, but there are times-" Miranda clenched her fists. "When . . . When can we s-see each other again?"

"Well, if Hornby's telling the truth about releasing Hudson and Aran this afternoon, maybe we can both go down to the hospital and retrieve them."

Miranda nodded, and hugged me as soon as I stood up. "I hope you were telling the truth about being OK."

"Dear God, it was just a sneeze-"

"Not that, you silly! About earlier, when you were saying how none of this shit going on would have happened if you weren't around!"

I tried to give her a convincing smile while gently pressing her to my body. "What's it gonna take for you to believe me when I say I'm alright? You listened. That's all I wanted." I gave her a kiss on the forehead. "You better get going before Madell comes back. I'll meet you at the Metro platform at . . . four-thirty, OK?"

"OK." Slowly pulling away from me, Miranda didn't stop staring at me as she picked up her purse and jacket before leaving the room. This time, I didn't follow her to the elevator; I headed past the elevators to sit on a couch and stare outside at the traffic below.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Considering the events of the previous story, is Hicks still correct in thinking Drake should get a medal of courage for saving Hudson, or do the events of this story make that null and void?_


	12. Chapter 12

I can say that nothing happened while I waited for four-thirty. Nothing physically, actually. I did a lot of thinking in that time, mainly about how much I missed the rest of my squad. At the same time, I liked being alone. I felt like I was finding out a lot about myself, and how I feel about other people.

Even though I feel slightly less stuck, I still feel stuck. I was glad I was making an attempt to stand up, but I knew I had to save my strength. I had to make sure I was ready to face my problems head-on. I had to start training myself to improve, to start regaining control of my emotions.

It was shortly after two in the afternoon when spotted a haggard-looking Mathias sitting on a bench outside one of the hotel conference rooms. He glanced up, and said, "Drake?"

"Hey," I replied. "You waiting for Miranda?"

Mathias nodded. "If I may . . . I . . . I don't know how to thank you."

"Well, don't."

"No, really, I must. According to Miss Miranda, you're the one who made sure we were reunited. I still don't understand why I was abandoned, but . . . she said she'll never do that again." Mathias sighed. "It's been a rough few days."

"Tell me about it," I said. "You attacked me in my room, you know that, right?"

"I do, and I'm sorry. The gentlemen at the repair station didn't modify my memory in the slightest. My nonsense and behavior, they said, were caused by a fluid leakage. Apparently, I really should've had that cough dealt with a lot sooner."

I nodded. "At least you feel better."

"In a way, yes, I do feel better. I think Miranda and I are going to have a long talk when we get the chance. We both failed, on a number of levels, to have a stable partnership. I know she didn't see me as just a practice dummy, and I didn't do a good job at being the friend she needed."

"I don't think you had much of a choice in some situations. You were terrified of being broken, and considering that happened so frequently, you didn't have a lot of time to think about anything else."

"True, and I know that once we go back to the university . . . that's all going to start up again."

I didn't know how to respond to that. "Maybe you'll have a better life when Miranda gets her degree. A lot of people have androids that do housework and stuff like that. Surely, that'll be better than being taken away and broken all the time."

"Hopefully, I'll have time to think about that," Mathias replied.

I thought for a moment. "Is . . . Is Miranda free right now?"

"Not for another hour or so. Why?"

"I dunno. Just bored. We're going somewhere at four-thirty."

"Are you dating?"

I snorted. "No. Not really."

A smirk crossed Mathias's face. "Are you positive, Drake? She was telling me how warm and gentle you are."

"She told you about me, huh?" I shook my head. "Wait, what else did she say?"

"She said that as much as she wants to say something along the lines of 'I love you,' she feels it's too soon."

I looked down at the floor, wondering if there was ever going to be a good time for me to tell Miranda that I already had someone who loved me. The fact that she wanted to love me was hurting a little, but I felt the best thing to do was keep playing this game until I went back to Australia. Maybe she'd begin to forget about me. Maybe she'd find someone else, someone who made her just as happy, and I could be happy with Vasquez.

I did feel like crap for what I was doing, and I told myself I was going to have to be really, really nice to Vasquez when I got back. I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, and I wanted to make her happy.

Until then, I had to keep this damn charade up, and I said to Mathias, "I'll be right back."

I had a lot of time before I needed to go to the hospital and get Hudson and Aran back, so I headed down to a gift shop in the mall, and went back to Mathias with a small bouquet of flowers, a chocolate bar, and a card, and said, "Here. Give this to Miranda when she comes out of the meeting."

* * *

I had to be real, though, when it came to getting Hudson and Aran back; there was a good chance that this was a trap, and I knew that if it was, I would probably be losing a lot more than just two people I cared about. I could lose my job and I could lose my freedom.

While I was sitting on a bench at the Metro platform, Miranda walked over, taking a seat next to me. She glanced at me, and said, "I got your present."

"Yeah? Did you like it? I wasn't entirely sure what flowers you like, so, I just grabbed the variety bouquet," I replied.

"I liked it. And the candy. And the card. I kinda figured you'd get a card with the most wise-ass saying on it."

"Of course I did." I glanced up a large display showing the arrival times of the train. We still had ten minutes. "So, I noticed you got Mathias back."

"I did. Also, shame on you for using him as an errand boy."

"Aw, that wasn't very romantic?"

"No! Mathias has been through a lot of shit. Don't do that to him."

"Well, it's better than what they're gonna do to him when you go back to the university."

Miranda sighed. "You have a point." She looked at me. "I'm guessing that . . . you're leaving when you get your friends back?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Hudson and I are stationed down in Australia and God only knows where Aran's going."

Miranda took a moment to think. "You know I wish you could stay, right?"

"I know. Not possible, though. Hey, I'll visit if I ever get the chance." I took a breath. "Look, I . . . I know that we've started connecting on a personal level, and, don't get me wrong, I like you. You're smart, you're nice, and I hope you become the best doctor you can be, but, I think we should just be friends." My heart was pounding rapidly, and I was certain that I fucked up, big-time.

Miranda bit her lip, and tears started filling her eyes.

I turned to face her. "I know that I've been doing a lot of nice things for you and vice versa, and I know that we kinda rushed head-on into the part of a relationship where we're comfortable with hugging and little kisses, but I think we were both really stressed at the time, and it's time to take a step back and look at everything as a whole. I'm not even convinced that we were actually dating, and here's why-" I swallowed past a lump in my throat, "I'm already seeing someone."

The color drained from Miranda's face. She opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she put her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry. I know that might not mean anything to you, but, please understand that I really am sorry. I've been feeling horrible about this for a few days now."

She sobbed. "Mark, why?"

"Because I knew you liked me and I took advantage of that in order to get help from you. It was wrong, I know, and I'm sorry."

"So, everything you've done- _everything_ -had no meaning whatsoever?! Y-You pretended to care about me just to get information about Hornby's experiments?!"

I shook my head. "When I got you the piña colada, that was a genuine gesture."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"No."

"Well, I have a hard time believing that. I get it; the things your friends are going through are awful, but I can't forgive the fact that after you attempted to help me with Mathias, you stab me in the back. I fucking trusted you with every problem I have right now, and you treated it like garbage, like it meant nothing to you! I thought I had gotten to know you!"

"You did get to know me!"

"Exactly! I got to know that you're lower than dirt and you think that in order to get help, you have to play with someone's heart and then throw it away!"

I had a feeling that this kind of response would happen, and I knew that she wasn't going to forgive me anytime soon. Who would? This really was all my fault, and I had to deal with the consequences. "You know, I do appreciate all you did for me, and I really wish that we could be friends. I understand that you're upset. It's completely my fault, and I should just . . . leave, I guess." I gave a nervous laugh. "Not sure what else to do. It'd be even crueler for me to leave and not attempt to make things better. I don't want this trip to end on a bad note."

Miranda sighed. "Why am I having a hard time believing you?"

"Because you're upset about all this and it's clouding your way of thinking." I realized that I sounded a little too much like a smartass with that, but maybe that was good thing.

I think Miranda was torn between how she'd react to that comment. She looked like she wanted to keep screaming at me, but she also looked like she was thinking about it. After all, she did say that she liked my sense of humor, and felt my sense of humor was genuine. However, I wasn't necessarily trying to be funny here. I was more or less entering a panic mode because the train was approaching and this might be my only chance to get Hudson and Aran back.

Miranda was looking up at the arrival times as well, and occasionally glancing at me. I was half-expecting her to leave, to dismiss everything I said, or go back to saying I was basically dirt, but she didn't. She gave another sad sigh, and asked, "Mark, why am I so . . . selfish?" More tears rolled down her face. "I-I've always known that when people get to know me, they see that I'm very selfish. I-I know that you're trying to help someone out, a-and here I am . . . making you out to be the devil. I feel like if you'd told me earlier that you already . . . in a relationship with somebody, that I would've conducted myself differently around you, but that didn't happen. I never thought about whether or not you had a girlfriend and assumed you were single. I mean, part of that came from the fact that you weren't shocked or angry when I kissed you in the mall. I think I'm the one who ruined the whole thing . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she went back to staring at the ground.

"I don't think you're being selfish because you think you're better than everyone else," I replied. "Based on what you told me, I think this is all a result of you not getting a lot of time for yourself. Hell, you're the one who wanted to be a doctor. Didn't you know it would take more than, what, eight years to accomplish that?"

"I did know that, but I didn't know it would be this . . . time-consuming on a day-to-day basis. I know that when I graduate I'm going right to work, and I know that shifts for doctors are long and tedious. I thought this was going to be the best path for me. My parents supported it, my teachers in high school supported it, my friends supported it. I guess I had a very fantastic idea of what life was going to be like, and then I saw what life really is like on my own. I don't want to say that life sucks, because I've had moments where it didn't. Every moment with friends and ex-boyfriends and, well, you showed me that there's so much life has to offer that makes people happy. I feel like I'm throwing that away."

"Hey, I pretty much threw away my chance at having a happy life. I didn't even graduate high school because I got sent to juvenile prison. I'm trying to make the best of it, but it's certainly not easy."

"Doesn't explain how I can appear less selfish in front of other people."

"Take a little bit more time when you meet new people. You're lucky you ran into emotionally-wrecked me, because a normal person would've been intimidated by how you present yourself. You definitely moved way too fast if you were trying to initiate a romantic relationship. If you really want to have a relationship, take the time to think about what you did wrong. Now, listen, I have not read any part of the book of love, but, I was a bit of a flirt when I was in high school, and since I've been with my girlfriend for a few years, I've learned a little bit on what works and what doesn't." I shrugged. "Some of it might just be my opinion, but if it works, it works. As for the selfish part, I think the best thing you can do is be honest without being forceful. People will misinterpret you if you don't say anything about what's going on, but, again, take some time before opening up about things like that."

A faint smile appeared on Miranda's face. "I'll take all that into consideration."

As the train came to a screeching halt by the platform, I stood up, and looked over my shoulder at Miranda. "My offer on being friends is still up in the air."

"And I'll take it." She stood up as well, following me onto the train. "For now, we should focus on helping Hudson and Aran."

* * *

I was honestly afraid that I was going to be arrested on the spot when I walked through gates of the hospital, and it didn't make me feel better that was added security since I went there. In fact, what made me feel slightly nauseated was that I spotted McKay and his squadron patrolling the grounds. He and Dunewall approached us, and grabbed my arms to force them behind my back.

"State your business," Dunewall said.

I took a breath. "You know me, right?"

"I said, state your business!"

"I got a message from Hornby stating that Hudson and Aran would be released right around this time."

Without letting go of me, Dunewall and McKay led me into the building, and Miranda was told to wait outside the fence. Inside the lobby, it appeared as though Doctor Hornby was expecting me. He stood in front of the reception desk, hands behind his back. After the doors closed behind Dunewall and McKay, Hornby gestured for them to bring me closer.

"When I sent you that message this morning, I anticipated your arrival," he said. "Let's get a few things straight here-"

"I take Hudson and Aran, and I'll leave you alone. I really don't care, Doc, I just want to get my friends back and get out of here," I snarled.

"That I already knew. I feel like this could've gone better, Drake, if you had left well-enough alone in the first place."

"You fucking made Hudson sick and tried to starve him! What's worse, you fucking kidnapped Aran!"

"Aran hasn't been harmed."

"I don't believe you! Now, hand them both over!"

Hornby finally realized that I was just going to become enraged every time he spoke, so he pressed a button on the desk behind him and said, "Bring Hudson and the Engineer down."

As we waited, Dunewall asked, "Should we let Drake go?"

"Not until he's set to leave," Hornby replied.

I think he said that because he knew I wanted to punch him.

An elevator opened up, and a lab android led out a handcuffed Aran and an exhausted-looking Hudson. They were pushed in my direction, and Dunewall and McKay let go of me.

I glared at Hornby, but I didn't punch him. It wasn't worth it, to be honest, because I felt like it was going to backfire. He didn't say anything more as I put Hudson's arm around my shoulder to help him out of the building. We were followed by McKay and Dunewall, who didn't speak until we were at the gate.

"Sorry about all that, Drake," Dunewall said, opening the gate for us.

"Don't bother wasting your breath," I replied. "Just don't bother." I looked up at Aran. "Are you OK?"

Aran nodded as Dunewall removed the cuffs from his wrists. He didn't look as traumatized as Hudson, but his slightly labored breathing told me that Hornby may've tried to mess around with him as well. I had a feeling he was going to talk to me in private about what happened.

This was undoubtedly anticlimactic, but I guess it goes to show that Hornby wasn't necessarily a "bad guy." He felt threatened, and did what he could to get his research done in order to keep his job, similar to how I pretended to "date" Miranda so I could get information on Hudson. Technically, we both hurt people in order to achieve our goals, but at least Miranda and I made up, while Hudson could be damaged permanently. He didn't say a word as we walked back to the Metro station, and it was best not to try and prompt him to say anything until he was ready.

McKay and Dunewall followed us until we came to the stairway leading down to the station, and that was when I remembered McKay had tried to hit on Vasquez, and how devastated he was when I told him I was already with her. I have no experience playing matchmaker, but I felt like McKay and Miranda might be able to hit it off pretty well. After all, McKay wears his heart on his fucking sleeve, he's not a quitter, and he seems like the type who would make any girl feel like a princess.

After saying my goodbyes to the two Marines, I looked at Miranda and then pointed to McKay while heading down to the platform, saying, "He's single."

* * *

Before I could go back to my hotel room, I had to make contact with my squad back in Australia. Leaving Miranda in charge of Hudson and Aran, I went to a travel station a few buildings down from the Marriott, and was directed to a room exclusively for military personnel where I could make a private call. While waiting for someone to pick up, I realized that I was close to finishing this crappy adventure, but at the same time, I've grown attached to this place, and some of the people here.

"Is that you, Drake?" Apone said over the phone.

"It sure is," I replied. "I've got Hudson back."

"What do you mean _you_ have Hudson back? We were supposed to get a call from the hospital, not you."

"It's kind of a long story. Hudson wasn't take overseas to be treated . . . He was taken overseas to be experimented on."

"Are you bullshitting me, Drake?"

"No, sir. I'm telling you the God's-honest truth. Hudson's in bad shape right now. You'll see it when we come back to base. I don't think we'll be able to leave by commercial airline, not with Hudson's condition, so . . . is it possible we can get a ride or something?"

Apone sighed. "Alright. We'll get you out of there. Get your ass to an air base by tomorrow night at seven, got it?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

I returned to my room to find Hudson and Aran lying down, while Miranda was sitting by the window, watching over the two of them. I noticed Hudson was awake, but was staring into space. Again, this didn't feel like the right time to try and get him to talk, so I went over to Aran. "How're you feeling, buddy?"

He gave me a thumbs-up and a weak smile.

Miranda looked at me. "He was telling me what happened. Apparently, Hornby tried locking him in a room with the silver flowers, and became frustrated with the fact that it takes longer for Engineers to become effected because of their size, so he took Aran out of the room and left him in handcuffs for the rest of the day because he 'didn't have the time to do this anymore.'"

"That was it? That was why he kidnapped Aran?" I sighed. "That's ridiculous. I should've punched him."

"Hey, it's all over, Mark. We can just go home and focus on our own lives." Miranda stood up, heading for the door. "Is it OK if I talk to you out in the hall?"

"Sure." I looked at Aran. "You gonna be OK?"

He nodded.

"Can you take care of Hudson?"

Another nod.

"Good." I followed Miranda out the door, closing it behind me. "Alright, what's going on?"

"I know you're leaving tomorrow, and . . . even though we're just friends now, I want to know if you'd be OK with . . . going to dinner again."

"Again? We went out last night. Aren't you tired of me?"

"We won't go somewhere overly fancy. We'll do something small. Just . . . as a chance to hang out one last time. You're busy, I'm busy. I don't think we're ever going to see each other again."

I thought for a moment. "Well, if that's the case, then I'm OK with it. What time is it?"

"Six-thirty."

"Alright. I'll let Aran know, and then I'll be right back out."

* * *

I guess it was the fact that I accomplished something that allowed me to feel less stuck. There was also the fact that I wasn't pretending to be in love, and I felt a little more free when it came to how I acted. We went to a fish fry joint on the Potomac River, sitting out on a deck facing the water, with a great view of the D.C. skyline. In a way, I treated this like a celebration. I wanted to feel better about everything that happened, but as I talked and laughed with Miranda, I had a creeping feeling that there was really nothing to be happy about.

I knew that I was going back to Australia tomorrow. I was going back to the same routine I've gotten used to over the years. I also knew that Hicks wanted me to get a medal for pulling Hudson out of the building with the flowers, but part of me felt like I didn't deserve it because I couldn't keep Hudson out of Hornby's grasp. Plus, I had spent much of this trip putting myself down. I shouldn't get a medal for courage if that's how I am. However, I know I did try to improve myself. I don't think I've made a lot of progress, but at least I know when I'm going to put myself down and blame myself and overall feel like a loser. I may not stop it, but I recognize it.

I kept all this to myself throughout the night, not wanting to dampen the mood. We went on a walk along a pier after dinner, and Miranda asked if it was alright that she send me letters. I said that it was illegal I tell her the address of the base, but she could send it via the USCM mail stations because they know where every planetary base is and where each soldier is stationed. I personally didn't see the harm in us corresponding regularly, just as long as we weren't sending love letters, but I was a little worried Vasquez would get the wrong idea if she saw it and assumed I was cheating. She's got common sense; I'm pretty sure that if I explain everything, I won't get punched in the nose.

Around nine o'clock, we went back to the hotel. I let Miranda give me one last hug before we went our separate ways, and when the elevator doors closed to take her up to her room, I knew that was going to be the last time I saw her for a long time. I had wished her luck with completing her degree and helping Mathias, as well as finding someone else to love (honestly, though, I still think her and McKay would be a good match), and then I headed to my room for my last night in Washington.

* * *

I awoke in the morning to find two messages on the answering machine. The first one was from Hornby: "Sorry I'm calling at a late hour, Drake. I just want to apologize for all that's happened. It's been bothering me, and I've only just mustered the courage to say something. I think now that I've submitted my research to Burke, I can go back to my regular life. You deserve some form of compensation for what you've gone through, and the best I can offer is an experimental pill that should help clear out Hudson's systems. It won't work overnight, that's for sure. I should also apologize for ordering your Engineer friend to be kidnapped. I guess it was an opportunity I saw and tried to take it, but it didn't take very long for me to realize I was really pushing your boundaries as a human being. You've suffered enough. I can understand if you don't want to accept any of my apologies, but know that I'm not going to do this again. I'll find some other way to conduct my research. Good luck to you."

As much as I respected Hornby's effort to apologize, I wasn't ready to accept it yet.

The second message was from Dunewall: "'Morning, Drake. Hope you're doing alright. Hope Hudson's doing alright, as well. If you ever have the time, me and some of the other guys would like to take you out for a drink. If you're leaving today, that's fine. We'll have a toast for you. I'm sorry about what happened, both yesterday and the day you were locked in the warehouse. Take care of yourself, man."

I saw Aran staring at me from the corner of my eye. He was looking a little better compared to yesterday, but he also looked sad. "What?" I said.

He handed me his notebook. " _I can't travel with you, but I need to go back to Australia to try again with helping Dakota. I'm going to find my way there on my own._ "

I sighed. "I understand. Good luck."

Aran took his notebook back, and was about to leave the room when he paused, turned around, and went back to hug me.

I smirked. "OK, you still need to work on not hugging people so hard." I took a breath when I was set down. "Be safe out there, alright?"

When Aran left, I was alone with a still-zoned-out Hudson. I glanced at him, and said, "Everything OK?"

I didn't get an answer. Hudson looked at me, and I saw nothing but fear and disbelief in his eyes. That's the last thing I want to see out of him. Frankly, I couldn't leave him alone, so I sat in the room until it was time for us to leave.

* * *

I helped Hudson out of the room shortly after six in the afternoon. My duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, and Hudson's arm was around the other. He was walking somewhat normally as we headed to the elevator, but he was still leaning on me. He said nothing the entire day, and I didn't pressure him to say or do anything. I could only hope that he would improve with time.

After arriving at the air base, the cargo plane was already waiting for us, and I was greeted by Apone and Hicks. "Well, you weren't bullshitting anyone," Apone said when he saw Hudson. "Looks like someone beat the stuffing outta him and then hung him out to dry."

"Got that right, sir," Hicks mumbled, helping me carry Hudson into the plane. "You doing alright, Drake?"

"I'm OK," I replied. "Had a long week, that's all." I sat by a window, and almost immediately began browsing through my memories of the last week. It definitely had its ups and downs, and it wasn't short on tense moments. I learned a lot about myself, that's for sure, and I'm certainly not done learning.

I gazed out the window as the plane took off, and I watched the lights of D.C. become mere dots. The distance between myself and the city increased, as did my disbelief about whether or not I actually made some form of improvement on myself.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Should Drake accept Hornby's apology, or is he simply unforgivable?_

 _Author's Note: I probably crammed too much into this chapter, but the subplots needed to be wrapped up somehow, and I'm not sure splitting this into two chapters would be a good move. I wasn't losing steam on this story, but something was telling me that I needed to tie all the knots soon.  
_

 _The good news is that I have my next idea in mind. It probably won't be up for another two or three days, or longer if I get a better idea within that time.  
_

 _This story was definitely a roller coaster, but a fun one at that. I tested out what would happen if I sprinkled in some other subgenres to give some variety, and it feels like it performed well. It felt smooth and didn't lose the character-driven focus. Best of all, I got to work with new and different characters to play off of Drake. Happy reading - Cat_


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